#mark grayson invincible

Mark let's out a snort of laughter, perching up and resting his weight in his elbows, the edge of his sweater raising the tiniest bit and you catch a peek of a neat, dark little happy trail that disappears beneath the fabric of his clothing.

"I can guarantee an orgasm." Mark boasts. "I'll bet anything."

"If I don't cum, I want you to grow a full bush and then, wear cycling shorts for a week."

Your wager has Mark's lips pursing, chocolate pools moving towards the ceiling as he weighs his options. "Oddly specific but okay." Mark shrugs. "And if you cum, anytime I learn a sex trick, I get to try it on you. Unless you get into a relationship but," he snorts, "let's be realistic."

The insult has you flinging the magazine across the bedroom, hitting Mark in the face with the spine and he winces, although, you know it's more out of habit than from actual feeling.

"It's so weird." He mumbles. "I don't feel your abuse anymore."

Mark's grin is cocky.

"Oh, Marky," you coo, lifting yourself from his desk chair and you cradle his face in your hands, an action that's so familiarly condescending but Mark can't help but lean into your warm palms, "you're only unaffected by the physical abuse. I can still hurt you self-esteem."

Mark's eyes narrow at you. "Try it." There's a challenge in his voice that you just can't ignore. Especially when he's looking at you like that. Brown eyes trained intensely on you, black strands tousled ever so slightly from the long day he's had.

"You have feminine hands." And you swear, the way his expression falls is an aphrodisiac in of itself before you straighten up.

"It's easy to hurt your ego, Marky." You hum. "Heroes get a lot of hate if they do something wrong. But lucky for you, you have years of experience."

"Yeah," Mark hums, "no one's a bigger dick than you."

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💛💙୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

"It's so weird that you're losing your virginity on your parents' anniversary." You hum quietly, carefully traveling along the sides of Mark's bedroom, attaching the LED light strips along the cornish.

"Don't make it weird." Mark grumbles, stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fuzzy robe as he towel dries his hair, messy strands poking in every direction and he watches you with amusement. "Their anniversary is like, the only time when they travel far enough that I can't hear them. So.... It's the only night I can do it."

"They probably don't want you to hear them fucking." You hum, almost absentmindedly and when Mark gags, you let out a laugh and your foot slips from the backrest of his desk chair, and you slip.

But instead of meeting the carpeted floor in an unceremonious crash, you instead crash into Mark's chest, his arms wrapped around your midsection and your knees tucked up. And he dips his head low, head tilted.

"You okay?"

And if your pussy didn't have a heartbeat before, it does now. The way he looks down at you, his expression so soft, brows creased in concern and his lips. So soft and inviting, the scent of mint lingering in the air and you nod your head.

"Mhm," you mutter quietly, "I'm okay."

Mark sets you on your feet, before examining where you had stuck the lights and he nods his head, a grin cocking at his lips.

"Yeah, this is a mood setter."

"Can I open my eyes now?" Mark grumbles, arms folded over his chest but his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones and you let out a hum.

"Go ahead." You mumble and he allows his eyes to open and drink in the sight of you.

Freshly showered, steam still rising from your skin and in his T-shirt. The faded Batman shirt ends just below your crotch, your ankle socks aren't even matching and your hair's tied into a bun that looks so half-assed.

You look nervous. Eyes lowered to the carpet and Mark reaches forward, large hands bracketing your hips and his thumbs brush over the trimming of your panties. And he pulls you to stand between his thighs, his head tips back and his chin comes up to rest on your sternum as he stares up at you.

"We don't have—" "I want to." You interrupt him, your hands raising to rest on either side of his neck, thumbs brushing along his jawline. "I want to." You repeat quietly, looking down at Mark.

The plan is to lose your virginities before the gap year is over. Because you'd both much rather make a mistake with each other than with strangers.

"Move your hand."

Mark lets out a snicker of laughter, your thighs tossed over his and his tip notched at your entrance, and he can barely think.

Not when he knows how tightly you felt around his fingers, sucking him in with such a neediness, not when he saw the way your brows knitted into the prettiest little pinched expression when his tongue lapped against your clit just right.

"I looked at the logistics of it and it's not gonna fit."

You state, and those pretty brown eyes roll at your words, before Mark slaps your hand away, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he taps it against your clit. Just to watch the way your stomach caves in with an unsteady breath.

"It'll fit." Mark reassures. "Trust me, I'm a doctor."

And you let out a laugh, your body slumped against the mattress and you snort.

"No you're n—nahh..."

Mark watches the way your head tips back when he pushes his tip past the ring of muscle, and he watches the way your eyes shut, brows knitting into a pinch.

"You little... Fuck.."

You breathe out, your expression a little pouty frown and Mark moves a strand of hair out of your face, leaning forward and as he presses a kiss to your forehead, he pushes another inch inside.

And as you gasp, his lips press against yours, and Mark swallows each moan and groan of pain, his forearm supporting his weight while his other hand grips your hip, thumb brushing over the protruding bone of your hip and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

"You're so warm..." Mark murmurs into the kiss, but he keeps his hips still, slotted between your thighs and he feels your gummy walls pulsing around him, trying to get used to the intrusion. And Mark lifts his head, kissing the apples of your cheeks.

"So I'm big, huh?"

He teases and watching as your pained expression gives way to an annoyed expression, eyes bored and brows furrowed.

"Just fuck me already."

You grumble.

And Mark pulls out, until just the rosy tip of his cock is poked into your sopping cunt, before he slowly pushes back into you.

The stretch burns, and you can feel the way your nails dig into your palms and you take a deep breath. His hips are pressed against yours, and you can feel that painful pinch behind your navel.

"Are you inside yet?" You question, peeking up at Mark through your lashes, enough to watch the way that dorkish grin spread across his face as he readjusts his position, leaning forward and shifting himself to rest more comfortably.

"Ha-ha, very funny." He rolls his eyes, his voice just a tad breathy and his hands move, thumbs moving your pussy lips out of the way, spreading them so he can see the pinkish flesh that swallows him whole.

"Mark!" You hiss, swatting away his hands, and covering your folds from his view. "What are you doing?"

"They do it in porn!" He defends, moving his hands to rest on your hips instead as his hips slowly begin to roll against you, the soft strands of his happy trail tickles your neglected and swollen clit, and you take a shaky breath.

"Those people are ass naked." You deadpan. "You've never even seen my feet."

With one hand, Mark shifts the covers and lets out a bark of laughter at the sight of your socks, still on your feet. And he reaches back for your ankle, lifting your leg and he places a soft kiss on the inside of your foot, causing your walls to flutter around him.

His kiss is warm through the cotton, a lingering show of affection as his hips thrust, cock nudging your insides to his shape. And he lowers your foot.

"Put your foot on my chest. I wanna try something." Mark hums quietly, resting your sock covered foot on his chest. And you let out a snort.

"My pussy isn't a skate park. You can't try things you've never done." You huff, but you comply, keeping your foot against his brawny chest, even as Mark shifts you into position, straddling your one thigh and resting your foot on his chest.

And when he moves, your foot slides off his chest, instead, resting beside him. And a snicker slips past your lips at the frustrated expression on his face.

"Please participate." Mark grumbles, moving your foot, and resting your leg over his shoulder, ignoring the way a laugh ruptures from your lips.

Kiss-swollen and pouty lips curling into a wicked grin.

"Bro said 'please par—'... Shit..."

Your eyes roll back in your head when the divot of Mark's tip presses against your cervix, pressing a sloppy, slick kiss against the plug as he grinds into you, leaning forward and pressing his lips against the curve of your jaw.

Mark isn't even fucking you anymore.

He's slowly rutting into you, pressing adorning kisses to the side of your face, sucking marks into the supple skin of your neck while he slowly fucks an orgasm out of you.

Kissing you deeply, his hand grasping the fat of your hip while the other massages the plumpness of your thigh, pressing a warm kiss against your calf before going back to swallowing your honeyed moans.

"... shit, you're gonna make me come..." You breathe out, your nails dragging lines down the expanse of his muscular and slightly damp back, the pain and pleasure mixing into a delicious concoction that has Mark burying his face into your neck.

Inhaling the scent of you.

"Mhm.... 's okay, baby, come for me..."

His voice is husky, a low timbre that makes your stomach knot and you whine when you feel that wave of ecstasy crash over you, waves breaking on the jagged rocks of your being and you're lashes flutter, tears brimming on your lower lashline because you're just so... Full.

Mark perches up, wiping the teardrops from your cheeks and he looks down at your hazy and flushed expression. His gaze lingering on your lips, wet and rosy, and before he even registers, your hand is on his face.

"Stop making such heavy eye contact." You whine. "You're gonna make me catch feelings."

And a laugh tumbles from his lips.

"You know, I have your entire future in my hands right now." Mark states quietly and when you hum, quietly mumbling a 'how do you mean', he simply presses a kiss against your pulse.

"I could fuck a baby into you right now." Mark breathes out.

"And you'd thank me for it."

I was cleaning my inbox n accidentally deleted the ask 💔

It starts simple. Just the two of you, killing time on a hot-ass day.

Mark's stretched out on his bed in a plain white tee and sweatpants, bare feet dangling off the edge, a comic held above his face. You're lying on your stomach beside him, scrolling through your phone with one hand and popping grapes into your mouth from the bowl on the nightstand with the other. The fan hums overhead, blades lazily spinning, sending a soft breeze that flutters the edge of your shirt.

It's been one of those quiet days--easy, comfortable, familiar. The kind of day that slips by without effort. You've been friends forever. Close enough to joke about everything, to touch without flinching, to share a bed or a bite of food without thinking twice.

But lately?

Something's been simmering beneath the surface. Something unspoken. Lingering glances. That low, fluttery buzz in your stomach when your shoulders brush. When his thigh bumps yours. When he looks over at you with sleep-wrecked hair and that heavy-lidded stare.

You should be used to it by now. This closeness. This... everything. But it's getting harder to ignore how good his arms look when he stretches, or how your stomach does that dumb little flip every time he laughs in that sleepy, raspy voice.

And today?

Today, he looks too good for his own damn safety.

You glance up from your phone--not really meaning to--and find yourself looking at his mouth. He's chewing the corner of his lip, eyes flicking across the comic like he's actually reading, but his fingers haven't turned the page in a while. His shirt's riding up just a bit, teasing a strip of his stomach.

And God help you, you notice.

You stare. Look back at your phone. Pop a grape in your mouth like that'll fix anything.

It doesn't.

When you glance up again, he's smiling. Not at you--at something in the comic--but the way the corner of his mouth lifts first? The way it makes that damn dimple show?

That should be illegal. Like, arrest-worthy--because of that dimple? Way too hot.

(As if he wasn't already criminally attractive.)

His arm is resting near yours, casual and close, and for some reason... it's his hand that catches your attention this time. The veins. The tendons. The long, twitchy fingers. You watch them turn a page, and something flutters in your chest--sharp and sudden.

"...Hey," you murmur, nudging his arm. "Lemme see your hand."

Mark glances over, confused but obliging. "Uh... okay?"

He lowers the comic, and you immediately take his hand in yours--palm to palm.

And holy shit.

"I knew it," you mutter. "You've got big hands."

Mark furrows his brow. "I mean... you've got tiny hands. That's not really a surprise."

"No, no. This is different." You scoot closer, studying the way your fingertips don't even reach the last knuckle of his. "They're longer. Like, spider-leg long."

He snorts. "Gee, thanks."

But his voice cracks slightly, trying to be casual. He thinks he's being casual. But inside? His brain is already short-circuiting.

Why are you looking at his hand like that?

Why are you holding it like that?

You glide your fingers slowly to his, tracing the length with teasing precision. "I mean it as a compliment. Kinda."

"'Kinda,'" he echoes, already scrambling, because your voice just dropped half an octave and his heart's pounding.

You shoot him a look. "Don't get cocky just 'cause your mutant fingers are hot."

He chokes. "My what?!"

But you're not letting it go. Not now. Not after your brain catches up to the possibilities.

Those fingers... long, nimble, warm. Strong when they grip things. And you've seen the way they wrap around water bottles, seen how they flex when he's clenching a fist or holding a pencil or absentmindedly drumming on his thigh while thinking.

God, what could those fingers do to you?

You stare down at your hands against his, thoughts spiraling rapidly from innocent observation to filthy, spiraling fantasy.

His long fingers wrapped around your throat. Curling inside you just right, hitting that perfect spot that makes you see stars. Holding your hips down while you squirm beneath him, breathless, begging him to stop because it's too much, it's too good--and you don't know if you can take it.

You feel a rush of heat crawl up to your neck, something throbbing deep and low, causing you to press your thighs together without thinking--tight, needy, like your body's already begging for his hands.

And Mark feels it too. Feels the shift. Sees the look in your eyes and he's panicking.

"Okay, weird inspection's over--" he tries to pull away.

But you catch his wrist and give him that look.

The one that says: you're not leaving this moment unscathed.

His stomach flips.

Then your lips curl into a devilish grin, slow and deliberate, causing Mark's breath to hitch. He watches your lips part, feeling his mouth go dry until--

"...You ever put those fingers to good use, Grayson?"

Your voice is silk and heat. And Mark?

Mark's brain lags like a bad Wi-Fi connection.

"I--wha--what does that even mean?" he stammers, eyes wide, cheeks already tinting red as your grip on his wrist tightens just slightly. His fingers twitch against yours, and you swear you feel a spark shoot up your arm.

You lean in closer, like you're about to share a secret.

"It means," you purr, tracing one of his long fingers with your nail, from base to tip in a deliberate, slow drag. "you've got tools, Mark. Real potential. And now I'm wondering what they'd feel like... y'know..."

You let your voice drop, eyes lidded. "Inside someone."

Mark makes a choked sound in his throat, like his soul just left his body. "You're messing with me," he says, voice shaky, trying hard to sound firm. "You--this is just another one of your dumb jokes."

You tilt your head, that same grin playing at the corner of your mouth as your fingers slide down his palm, lightly tickling the veins there. "Am I joking?" you ask inocently. "Or are you just scared?"

"Scared?!" he repeats, voice cracking.

"Oh yeah," you hum. "You're redder than a tomato right now. What, is it too much? Can't handle a little finger talk?"

"I can handle--" Mark's voice pitches, indignant and flustered all at once. "It's not like I haven't--done stuff before!"

"Yeah?" you lean forward, so close now that your lips are barely a few inches from his, eyes locked. "Then prove it."

Mark's breath hitches. "W-What?"

You keep going, teasing, relentless, your voice practically wrapping around him. "Show me how good they are. Those hands of yours. Or was all that talk just for show?"

And then--click.

His jaw clenches, eyes flicking down to your mouth, then back up, shoulders stiffen like he's bracing himself.

And you see it.

The moment Mark Grayson breaks.

"You're playing with fire," he says, voice low and dangerous.

Your smirk deepens. "Good. I like the burn."

And suddenly, his hand that had been under yours moves. Firm and sure, sliding up, fingers brushing your wrist, your forearm, until he's gripping just below your elbow.

"You want me to use my fingers?" he asks, voice husky now, a dark undercurrent that wasn't there before. "On you?"

You pause for a breath, caught by the tension snapping in the air.

"...I mean," you whisper, "unless you're too scared."

His smile curves--crooked and dangerous. "I already told you. I can handle it."

Then his hand slides up to your jaw, tilting your chin--slow, deliberate, commanding. Your breath catches as you watch the way his eyes darken, eyes lidded as he stares you down.

"And I will," he adds. "But if I do, you better be ready to take all of it. No running away when it gets too much. No teasing halfway."

Your heart pounds. His fingers--god, those fingers--are cradling your jaw now, brushing over your lips, your cheek, slow and maddening.

"I don't run," you whisper.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, "Then lie back."

And you do.

You don't break eye contact when you shift, body thrumming with heat as you lie back on his bed, sinking into his sheets. There's a moment--just one--where you feel almost too exposed, nerves prickling under your skin. You hadn't expected him to rise to the challenge. Not like this. Not with that look in his eye.

Mark settles beside you, bracing one hand next to your head, the other skimming down your side.

"You sure?" he murmurs, voice a low rasp, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. "You're not gonna tap out if I go too far?"

You grin, but your voice wavers with need. "Try me."

And that's all it take for Mark to snap.

His mouth crashes into yours--hot, messy, hungry. It's not your first kiss, but it feels like the first time he's really kissing you, like he's been waiting to unleash it. His tongue tangles with yours as his hand slides down to your waistband, pushing your shirt up just enough to expose your stomach.

"You looked so smug earlier," he growls, teeth catching your bottom lip. "Talking shit about my fingers like you weren't desperate for me to use them on you."

You gasp into the kiss. "I wasn't--!"

"You were," he says, cutting you off as his fingers trail beneath your waistband, over your panties. "And now I get to hear how cocky you sound when you're soaked."

He drags two fingers between your legs, slow, and you jerk beneath him with a soft moan.

"God, you're already wet?"

"Shut up," you pant, trying to squirm, but he presses his hand down--just enough to hold you still.

"Oh, now you wanna be shy?" His smirk is wicked. "Nah. I want all that attitude. I want you to look me in the eye when I make you fall apart."

He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs. You kick them off, already impatient, legs shifting restlessly.

Then his hand is back.

Two fingers sliding through your folds, dragging through slick heat. He watches every reaction--how your breath catches, how your hips jerk, how your thighs twitch open wider for him.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "You feel good."

Then--pressure.

His middle finger sinks in first, slow but firm, filling you with a stretch that makes your toes curl.

You gasp. "Shit--Mark!"

"Too much already?" he teases, even as he pumps it in and out, curling slightly on each thrust. "That's just one, babe."

You throw your arm over your eyes, breath coming faster. "Don't you fucking dare--"

"Oh, I'm gonna."

And without warning--

He adds a second finger.

The stretch is intense--but it's not painful. It's deep. Long. And his fingers--god, they reach so much further than yours ever could. He starts working them with slow, deep thrusts, curling them just right.

"Fuck--right there," you gasp, hips stuttering against the bed.

Mark freezes, grinning. "There?"

You glare at him through hazy lashes. "If you stop now I swear to god--"

But he doesn't stop.

He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit and starts really fucking you with his fingers--deep, fast, curling perfectly with every thrust. The squelch of slick heat fills the room, obscene and loud. Your thighs are shaking, hips bucking helplessly against him.

"Listen to you," he groans, pupils blown wide. "Dripping all over my hand. You like these long fingers, huh? You were practically begging for it without even saying it."

You can't even argue--not with your head thrown back, jaw slack, moaning with every snap of his wrist. The way his long fingers curl perfectly to hit that spot over and over again that makes you scream, pumping slowly just to tease you.

"Mark--oh fuck! Don't stop--!"

"That's it, baby," he growls. "You gonna cum for me? Just from my fingers?"

You nod frantically, too far gone to speak. And he knows it--he fucks you faster now. Deeper. Grinning when you babble his name between whimpers and gasps.

And when you cum?

It's messy--loud, full-body shudders, thighs clamping around his wrist as you cry out and clamp down around his fingers, your back arching clean off the bed.

"Fuck," Mark mutters, watching you like he's starving. "God, that was--"

You don't even hear him.

Your brain feels like it's turned to liquid. Your body's still shaking and clenching weakly around his fingers.

He pulls them out slowly, dragging them through your folds one more time before lifting them to his mouth. His lips part, and he sucks them clean, eyes fixed on yours the entire time.

"Guess my fingers aren't so freakish after all, huh?" he murmurs, voice husky.

You blink at him, dazed.

"...They're worse," you whisper. "They're a fucking problem."

He smirks.

"Good. I hope you suffer."

You huff, rolling your eyes playfully as you try to catch your breath--still panting, legs slack, thighs twitching with the aftershocks. Your body feels like it's been melted into the sheets, your skin hot and humming.

But despite the high, despite your racing heart... something heavier, hotter, and needier is pulsing between your legs now:

Greed.

He had the audacity to smirk at you while tasting you from his fingers. The gall to look you in the eye, lips glistening, and say he hopes you suffer.

Like, what the actual fuck?

He thinks he's in control no--acting all smug and high just by making you cum with those long fingers of his.

But the truth is--he's not.

You stare up at him, eyes hooded, lips parted. Mark's still leaning over you, licking his fingers clean with that cocky-ass smirk that makes your stomach clench all over again.

And that's when you see it.

The shape of him. His sweatpants are tented with zero shame--his hard-on straining against the thin fabric, leaking just from touching you. He's rock hard, flushed all the way to his ears, but he hasn't even touched himself yet.

You grin, breathless.

"Oh my god," you whisper. "You're fucking dripping."

Mark freezes. "I--shut up."

You sit up slowly, your strength returning in wicked waves. "All that from just fingering me?"

His mouth opens, then closes. His confidence falters. "I mean, you--you were hot--"

You crawl toward him on your hands and knees--half-naked, eyes locked on his. "You came in cocky, Mark," you murmur. "But you didn't think about what happens after, did you?"

He sits back a little, swallowing hard. "After...?"

You reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging it down a bit to reveal more of that delicious faint trail of hair that disappears under his boxers.

You glance up at him, mock-innocent as a wicked smile spreads across your face.

"My turn."

Mark hisses through his teeth when you yank them down. His cock springs free--thick, flushed, the tip wet with precum, twitching like it's been dying for attention. And you just smile at the sight of it, all flushed and twitching against his stomach.

You wrap your hand around the base, deliberately slow, and his entire body goes rigid.

"Oh, baby," you coo, grinning like you didn't just almost trip on the sheets. "You were so good for me just now. You deserve a little treat, right?"

"I--fuck--fuck," Mark pants as your fist glides up the length, thumb swiping over the head, smearing the slickness there. "Jesus--your hands feel--"

"Not freakish?" you tease, lips brushing his throat as you pump him in slow, tight strokes. "Mine might be smaller, but I know exactly how to use them."

His head drops back, neck straining.

Your thumb presses under the head, circling the ridge, and his hips thrust into your grip with a gasp.

"Shit--you're gonna make me cum--!"

"Already?" You pout. "But I was just getting started..."

And you are. You bend down, lips parting over the tip, and when your tongue flicks across that sensitive slit, Mark whimpers.

Loudly.

You flatten your tongue against the underside and drag it slowly to the head, then suck him into your mouth until your cheeks hollow around him.

You moan around him, causing Mark to cry out loud from the sudden vibration shooting throughout his body.

"Fuckfuckfuck--" His hands claw at the sheets. "That's not fair--you can't--Jesus--"

But you're not stopping.

You keep going.

Your hand stays tight around the base while your mouth takes the rest--sucking, swirling, teasing until his thighs are shaking and he's leaking even more, gasping your name like it's the only word he remembers.

He lifts his head to watch you, wide-eyed and wrecked, eyes glassy.

"You're--you're evil," he chokes. "You're so--fucking perfect--I'm not gonna last--"

You need a breath. A break. But the way he's looking at you, like he'd worship the ground you walk on just for sucking him dry? You're not done yet. You pull off him with a pop, strings of spit connecting from your lips to his tip as you grin up at him, spit-slick lips shining.

"That's the point."

Then your fist tightens, your mouth drops back down, and you suck him deep this time--fast, wet, filthy, until his thighs are shaking and he's panting and begging under his breath:

"Please, baby--please let me cum--fuck, I need it--I need it so bad--"

You hum low around him.

And that's all it takes.

He explodes with a groan so guttural it doesn't sound real--his body locking up, his hand gripping your hair, his cock twitching hard as he spills into your mouth in thick, hot spurts.

You swallow everything.

Everything.

Not a single drop was wasted. Even after he cums, you keep going. Sucking slow, dragging it out. His hips twitch helplessly, his breath ragged and choked.

"Too much," he whines, trying to push your head back. "I-I can't--"

You finally pull off, eyes gleaming, lips shiny.

"You lasted longer than I thought," you murmur sweetly. "Guess those long fingers aren't the only impressive thing on you."

He collapses backward onto the bed, totally fucked out, arm thrown over his eyes. "Holt shit," he rasps. "I'm gonna die."

You crawl up beside him, curling against his chest. "You're not dying," you whisper against his neck. "You're just getting started."

Mark groans. "You're gonna kill me."

"And you're gonna thank me for it," you tease.

He chuckles breathlessly, still trying to catch his breath as you tangle your legs with his--one hand lazily tracing the lines on his stomach, your breath warm against his skin.

You hear it before you feel it: the hitch in his breath, the subtle twitch of his hips, the way his fingers shift to grip your waist just a little tighter.

You grin.

"...Mark," you murmur, chin resting on his chest. "Are you getting hard again?"

He groans and throws an arm over his face. "Don't judge me--"

You shift up and straddle his hips, grinding down slightly--and there it is. Hard. Thick. Already twitching.

"Oh my god." You laugh, breathless. "You're actually insane."

Mark peeks out from under his arm, flushed and panting. "You sucked the soul out of me. What do you expect?"

You lean in, dragging your nails slightly across his chest. "You really wanna go again?"

He locks eyes with you.

Then--his voice drops.

"Not just go again," he murmurs. "I wanna taste you now."

Your breath catches. "What--"

"I've been thinking about it since you got on top of me." His hands slide to your ass, squeezing hard. "Since I watched your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, swallowing every drop I had. You made me cum so much... and now I think it's my turn to return the favor back."

You gasp as he sits up, flipping you easily until you're underneath him, and then back again until you're straddling his face.

"Mark--" your voice cracks. "This is--this is so unfair."

"You teased me, sucked me dry, smirked through it like you won," he growls, kissing the inside of your thigh. "So now? I'm eating you until you cry."

Then--his mouth.

Oh, god--his mouth.

He grabs your thighs and pulls you down onto his face, tongue instantly diving between your folds, lapping at you like he's starving.

Your scream tears out of you before you can stop it--leaving no time to be embarrassed.

His lips seal around your clit and suck hard, sending a shockwave through your core that makes your legs buckle. His tongue flicks, circles, teases--then plunges deep inside you, fucking you with his mouth like he's trying to wring another orgasm out of you right now.

"Mark--fuck, I--" You can't even breathe.

He groans under you, gripping your thighs tighter, pulling you in closer, not letting you up. Every movement is greedy, possessive--he eats you like it's his, like this is the only thing that matters in the word right now.

You grab the headboard for balance, hips rocking against his face uncontrollably.

His nose nudges your clit just right. His tongue? Fucking ruthless. And those long fingers?

Oh--they're back, baby.

One slips inside again, already soaked, curling just right--then another, his mouth and fingers working together in tandem.

You cry out, thighs trembling violently. "Mark--I'm--I'm gonna cum again--I can't--"

But he doesn't stop.

His voice is muffled against your cunt, but you hear it:

"Cum on my face."

You shatter.

You scream his name, hips grinding down as your orgasm slams into you--so much harder than the first. Your vision goes white, your body convulsing as you ride his mouth, dripping all over him.

He moans through it. Drinks through it.

Even as your thighs tremble, even as you whimper and twitch, he doesn't let up. He licks you through it, into it--until your entire body goes limp, slumping forward against the wall behind his bed, breathing like you ran a marathon.

He finally pulls back, chin soaked, eyes blown out and obsessed as he stares up at you.

"You good?" he pants, voice hoarse.

You shake your head, dazed and breathless. "No. I'm dead. You ruined me."

He grins, flipping you back underneath him again, kissing down your throat. "Good," he growls. "Because I'm not done yet until I make you scream my name again."

You whine, your body trembling--eyes dazed, thighs slick, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. Your body's spent, slick between your legs, twitching with every brush of air. Mark's leaning over you, breath warm on your neck, and the look in his eyes is feral.

"You said I ruined you," he rasps, his hand slipping between your thighs, spreading you wide again, and he groans when he feels how soaked you still are. "Then let me finish the job."

You barely manage a nod--your body is too needy, too raw and desperate to even protest. And when he grabs his cock--hard again, thick and flushed--you nearly whimper at the sight of it.

He runs the head through your folds, gathering every bit of slick he pulled out of you, then lines himself up.

"You still want this?" he growls, voice low, teeth gritted as he teases your entrance. "Still want me to fuck you, even like this?"

You nod frantically, fingers curling into the sheets. "Please, Mark--I need it, I need you--inside me--"

He snaps.

In one deep, smooth thrust, he sinks all the way in--bottoming out with a groan so guttural it makes your toes curl.

"F-Fuck--" he gasps, forehead dropping to yours. "You're so tight, fuck--you feel so--shit."

You cry out, body jolting as you stretch around him. It's too much--he's thick and hot and deep, and your cunt is still aching from earlier.

But god, it's perfect.

"You're dripping," he grits, thrusting in slowly, deliberately deep. "Still fucking leaking from my fingers and my mouth--and now this pussy's clenching like it never wants me to leave."

You whimper. "I don't. Don't pull out."

He growls like an animal, grabbing your thighs and pinning them up toward your chest, folding you beneath him as he fucks deeper.

"Yeah?" he snarls. "You want me to fill you up? Get you so full of me you're leaking for days?"

You moan, nails digging into this back. "Wanna feel you everywhere--"

"You will," he promises, voice harsh and breathless. "I'm gonna fuck you so deep, you'll still feel me when you walk tomorrow."

His hips start snapping forward faster--harder. His cock slams into your sweet spot, dragging wet, obscene sounds out of you with every thrust. You can barely breathe--his pace is brutal now, deep and punishing, hips slamming into yours.

"Mark--fuckfuck, you're so deep--!" you sob, legs wrapped around his waist.

He snarls into your neck, biting down gently. "You take it so fucking good. Look at you. Fucked out. Crying for me."

Your eyes are rolling. You're drooling. His cock hits that spit so perfectly, your vision's going white again.

"Cum again," he demands. "Now."

You wail--your orgasm crashes over you with no warning, your body seizing as you scream his name. You tighten around him so hard it nearly rips a groan out of him.

"Fuck--! Shit, baby," Mark shudders, barely hanging on. "You're--fuck, you're milking me--I can't--"

His rhythm falters, slamming in once--twice--then freezes.

And then he cums.

Hard.

Hot.

Deep.

You feel it--pulse after pulse of him spilling inside, thick and warm, coating your insides until it's leaking back out around his cock. His whole body shakes above you, every muscle straining as he rides out his orgasm with a ragged, animalistic moan.

"Shit--oh my god--" he pants, hips still twitching.

You're both shaking, your bodies stuck together by sweat and heat and slick, breaths ragged and broken.

"...Holy shit," you whisper, voice cracking.

Mark lets out a breathless laugh into your neck.

"So... round five?"

You smack his chest.

"Let me live first, you goddamn Viltrumite freak."

He just grins against your skin. "You love it."

You do.

God help you--you do.

You breathe out a shaky laugh, not sure if you're recovering... or relapsing.

You love it when he holds you like this after. When all the teasing and tension fades into something quieter. When he doesn't let go. When his forehead rests against yours like he might be just as afraid of what this means. When the jokes stop and it's just breath and heartbeat and skin--and it feels like that neither of you really knows how to walk away anymore.

Your heart's still pounding. Every nerve in your body still sings from where he touched you, where he held you down, where he pulled you apart with maddening precision. His fingers--those fingers--are still ghosting idle circles into your thigh, like they don't know they've already ruined you.

Mark's body is half-draped over yours, his weight is grounding, his breath brushing your collarbone in slow, satisfied exhales. There's a smear of your lip gloss near his jaw. A bite mark on his shoulder. Your nails carved down his back like proof.

Neither of you speaks.

The air is thick with sweat, heat, and sex. The fan buzzes lazily overhead. Your lungs are still catching up. Your thighs are still twitching.

But the thing is--Mark is still inside you, yes.

But he's also brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face like you're something precious. Like the way he held your jaw earlier was just the start of something dangerous and tender.

You feel him twitch once, lazily, and you both groan at the oversensitive drag of it.

"...You didn't pull out," you mumble, voice cracked and hoarse.

He lets out a dazed, cocky little laugh into the crook of your neck. "Yeah," he exhales, "No shit."

You can't help the soft, worn-out giggle that escapes you. There's a lot of him still leaking out of you. You can feel it. And the worst part?

You love it.

You love the way he claimed you. The mess. The stretch. The soreness. The heat still blooming in your stomach like something dangerous took root there.

His arm slides under your shoulders, cradling you against him, and you feel the press of his lips at your temple.

"You okay?" he whispers. "Did I go too hard?"

You turn your head slightly and stare at him. Your voice is flat. "You ate me like i was your final meal and then ruined my soul."

Mark snorts.

You swat his side. "That's a yes, in case you were wondering"

He groans dramatically and buries his face in your neck. "I blacked out somewhere around round three. I'm not even sure what happened."

"You talked dirty. Like, filthy filthy."

"Did I?" he says, voice muffled against your skin. "That doesn't sound like me."

You shift under him and immediately regret it.

A sharp gasp escapes you.

"Oh my god," you whimper. "I'm gonna feel you for a week."

"...Still inside you, by the way," Mark adds, so helpfully. "Which means if I twitch just a little--"

"Don't you dare."

He grins against your collarbone. "You'd let me."

You don't answer.

Because he's right.

Instead, you run your fingers through his sweaty hair and rest your cheek against his head. The silence settles again--quiet and warm, his heart beating against yours. His fingers draw slow, lazy circles on your side.

After a moment, he murmurs, "Hey."

You hum in response.

"...I really like you, y'know."

That makes your eyes open.

You turn your head again and find him staring at you--soft-eyed, messy-haired, completely wrecked and somehow still beautiful. There's no teasing in his voice this time. Just bare, honest reaction.

And just like that--

You're ruined all over again.

You smile.

"Yeah," you whisper. "I really like you too, Grayson."

Then, he kisses you slow. No pressure. No rush. Just lips pressed to lips, fingers curled around your waist, two bodies tangled under the weight of everything you just shared.

Eventually, when your legs stop trembling and your brain returns to your body, he finally pulls out with a hiss and a curse--and you both watch the mess drip out of you with tired fascination.

"...That's disgusting," you mumble.

Mark beams. "That's mine."

You groan and bury your face in the pillow.

"Round five in the morning?" he adds sweetly.

You lift one hand and flip him off.

Mark just laughs, too proud of himself to care. He ducks down to press a kiss to your shoulder--mocking, smug, sweet.

"I'll take that as a yes."

You groan again, rolling to the side and dragging the sheet up with you, your legs still too shaky to trust. Your body's wrecked. Mark's still watching you like he hasn't had enough--like he's already plotting round five.

"It's a fuck you, actually."

"That's what I said."

You shoot him a look over your shoulder--flat, unimpressed, exhausted. "Mark."

He blinks. "Yeah?"

You sigh, voice softer this time. "Let's just sleep."

That quiets him.

For a second, he studies you--really looks. The sweat still drying on your skin. The twitch of your thighs. The way your brows pinch just barely, even now, like you're so close to your limit. Not just physically, but emotionally too.

And he nods.

"Yeah. Okay," he says, voice low and sincere.

He shifts behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you tuck into the pillow. No teasing. No pushing. Just his hand smoothing down your side in slow, grounding strokes. His breath brushes the nape of your neck.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs.

You hum, already half-asleep. "Didn't ask you to."

But still--you relax a little more.

And just before sleep claims you, with his breath warm against your skin, you wonder if maybe you never really stood a chance.

Not against this. Not against him.

-----

You don't remember falling asleep.

Just the weight of him behind you, his hand warm over your stomach, his breath steady at the nape of your neck.

And now--

Now the sun is leaking through the blinds, gold and heavy. The fan hums above in slow, lazy spins. You blink, throat dry, body screaming at you with every little twitch.

But your body doesn't hurt in a bad way. No, this is the type of pain you wake up smiling through--sore thighs, a faint ache between your legs, the ghost of deep pressure low in your stomach. You're covered in dried sweat, bite marks, and hickeys that are definitely going to show. And the worst part?

You'd do it all over again.

You will do it all over again--if the way Mark's arm is slung across your waist, his hand curled possessively against your stomach, is any indication. He's still behind you, breathing slow and even, clinging to you even in his sleep like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go, like you're his.

You blink at the ceiling. Still in Mark's bed. Naked. Under a single thin sheet.

Then you try to move.

Instant regret.

"Ow," you whisper sharply, gripping your thigh.

Behind you, Mark groans and shifts. "Told you I'd ruin you," he murmurs, still half-asleep and smug.

You elbow him in the ribs.

"I hate you," you mumble into his pillow.

He kisses your shoulder. "No you don't."

You grumble something incoherent and try to sit up again. Your legs wobble. You glare at him over your shoulder.

"I swear to god, Mark Grayson--if I can't walk straight today--"

He grins, looking away too pleased with himself.

"Then my job here is done."

You lunge for a pillow and whack him across the face with it, which only makes him laugh harder, arms wrapping around your waist to drag you back down.

"C'mon," he murmurs, voice gravelly. "Five more minutes. You're warm."

"I'm sticky," you shoot back, squirming.

"Still warm."

He shifts behind you again and you feel the unmistakable twitch of something hard pressing against your ass.

"Mark."

"...Ignore it."

"MARK."

He laughs, breath puffing against your skin. "It's not my fault you were making those sounds last night," he grins, shameless. "My body remembers."

You groan and cover your face with both hands. "We were so loud."

"I told you not to scream my name."

"You told me to look you in the eye and cum on your cock!"

"Oh yeah." He grins, eyes dreamy. "That was a good moment--"

Knock knock.

You both freeze.

Your soul leaves your body.

"Mark?"

It's Debbie's voice.

"You up? I brought breakfast--"

"NO--NO, I'M GOOD--WE'RE GOOD!" he yells suddenly, leaping halfway out of bed while fumbling for a shirt to cover your both. One leg gets caught in the sheets, and he slams straight into the nightstand. "Shit--!"

The lamp crashes to the floor, and you cackle behind your hand, trying to stay silent.

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO COME IN--!"

Too late.

The door opens.

And behold--

Debbie stands in the doorway holding a tray of toast, eggs, and orange juice.

And guess what she sees?

You. Naked. In Mark's bed.

Mark. Shirtless, sweaty, the room reeked of sex.

The sheet is halfway off your body. Hickeys. Hair a mess. Her son's very obvious boner.

You want to die.

You want the ground to swallow you whole.

Debbie blinks once--twice--and looks at Mark. Then at you. And then at the tray. "...Well," she says calmly. "I guess breakfast can wait."

A pause.

"Next time, lock the door. And maybe crack a window."

She turns around, leaves, and gently closes the door behind her. You lie there, face hot, hands gripping the sheets and Mark just flops face-first onto the bed and screams into the pillow.

"You're never getting laid in this house again," you mutter.

"She's gonna tell my dad," Mark groans.

"Oh, she's definitely gonna tell your dad."

You both dissolve into mortified, hysterical laughter.

It's the kind of laughter that feels like crying. Like maybe if you don't laugh, your brain will melt into a puddle of shame and your soul will astral project off the planet.

You collapse back into the sheets, hiding your face.

Mark is still screaming into the pillow.

"She saw everything," you whisper, like saying it out loud will exorcise the horror. "Everything. Your dick. My hickeys. My ass--oh my god--"

"She's gonna bleach the house," he groans, muffled.

"She's gonna sage the room."

"She's gonna send us a Google doc titled 'Safe Sex and Boundaries.'"

You wheeze.

There's a long beat of silence.

"...I have to go out there," you whisper, frozen with dread.

Mark lifts his head just enough to squint at you. "You don't have to."

"I can't just stay in your room like a cryptid and hide."

"You could. Cryptids are cool."

You give him a look.

He flops back onto the bed with a groan. "Fine. Let me find you some clothes."

He rolls off the mattress with all the grace of someone who got rail-gunned by orgasmic bliss, limping dramatically toward his dresser, still stark naked, still half-hard.

You blink. "You're seriously walking around like that?"

He waves you off. "She already saw the worst. The damage is done."

He opens the drawer and tosses an oversized hoodie and boxers onto the bed beside you. "There. Cover that pretty ass before I get ideas."

You raise a brow. "You already had ideas. Several times."

Mark shoots you a crooked grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. Can you blame me?"

You roll your eyes--but your smile gives you away.

Then you sit up, groaning again, gripping your sore thigh. "I can't go out there like this. I feel disgusting. My thighs are stuck together, Mark."

"You're welcome," he says, proud.

You grab a pillow and throw it at his head.

He dodges easily, laughing. "Okay, okay--how about a shower?"

Your eyes narrow. "A solo shower."

Mark places a hand on his chest, mock-offended. "What do you take me for?"

"A menace."

"A helpful menace. I'll even wash your hair."

You stare at him.

He smirks. "I'll behave."

"...You said that last night."

"Yeah, and look how that turned out."

You groan. "Fine. But no funny business."

Mark salutes. "Scout's honor."

You slide out of bed, wincing a little as your feet touch the floor. Everything between your thighs aches in that used, sore, completely-fucked-out way. You grab the shirt he tossed and slip it over your head--it drowns you instantly, falling halfway to your knees.

Mark makes a sound behind you.

You turn. "What?"

He's watching you like he wants to sin all over again. His lip tugs into a grin. "Nothing. Just--you look good in my clothes."

You roll your eyes, padding toward the bathroom. "Shut up and turn on the water."

He follows, grabbing a towel on the way, and by the time you step into the shower, steam is already starting to curl around the curtain rod. The room's small, a little too warm, and Mark is definitely not giving you space.

"You said you'd behave," you remind him, raising a brow as he steps in behind you.

He shrugs, lips twitching. "This is me behaving."

The water runs hot over your skin, rinsing away dried sweat and whatever dignity you had left. You sigh, letting it wash over your face, your neck, your chest.

Behind you, Mark is quiet.

Too quiet.

Then his hands gently find your waist.

You tense--but he doesn't move. Doesn't grab/ Doesn't grope. He just holds you there, thumbs brushing slow circles over your skin.

"I meant it, by the way," he murmurs into your ear, voice low, soft. "Last night."

You blink.

"The part where I said I really like you."

You exhale, leaning your back against his chest, water running over both of you. "Yeah," you whisper. "I meant it too."

His arms wrap around you fully this time, pulling you closer under the spray. "I know we joke a lot," he says, "but I'm not just in this for the sex. Even if the sex is--like--holy shit."

You snort. "Wow. So romantic."

He kisses your temple. "You know what I mean."

You nod, letting yourself lean into him for a moment longer--just the water, the heat, and the steady thrum of his heart pressed to your spine.

Eventually, Mark reaches for the shampoo and works it into your hair with surprising gentleness, fingers massaging your scalp while you hum in contentment.

"This is dangerously domestic," you murmur.

He grins. "Too late to run now."

You close your eyes.

Let him rinse you clean.

Let the moment stretch--quiet and warm and real.

His fingers are gentle now. No teasing. No games. Just slow movements over your skin, like he's memorizing every inch of you in silence.

The water slips down your shoulders in lazy streams. His palm drags across your back, your hips, smoothing soap into the curve of your spine like you'll break if he pushes too hard. He presses a kiss between your shoulder blades.

You exhale, soft. Melting under the steady rhythm of him.

"I meant what I said," Mark murmurs.

You open your eyes halfway. "Which part?"

He doesn't answer right away. Just reaches for your hand under the spray and laces your fingers together. His thumb brushes the side of yours.

"All of it," he says finally. "I don't regret any of this."

The silence that follows is heavier than it should be. It hangs between your bodies, slick with more than water. You want to believe it. You do. But it scares you how much you want to stay like this--how much you want this to mean something.

You turn around slowly, water cascading down your skin, and meet his eyes.

He looks serious. Like he's searching for something in your expression. Like he's bracing himself for you to run.

But you don't.

You lean in, pressing your forehead to his, your noses brushing. His breath hitches.

"I don't regret it either," you whisper.

Mark lets out a breath like he's been holding it since last night. His grip tightens on your hand. You stay like that for a moment--close, bare, hearts thudding in sync under the hot spray--until he finally lets out a quiet lopsided laugh.

"You're still not walking straight, are you?"

You smack his chest without looking up. "Shut up."

He laughs harder and pulls you close, arms wrapping around your waist under the water. "You love me."

"You're lucky I'm too sore to punch you."

"Still counts."

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

And just like that--beneath the running water, tangled in each other, soaked and tired and vulnerable--you realize this isn't just a fling. This is real. Something's shifted. And neither of you wants to go back.

Not anymore.

He holds you there, chest to chest, the steam curling around your shoulders and the sound of the water muffling the outside world.

Your fingers curl into the back of his neck, slow, deliberate. You tilt your head just enough to brush your mouth against his--barely there, a ghost of a kiss.

But he chases it.

Soft.

Patient.

His lips press into yours with none of the urgency from last night. This isn't about heat. This isn't about need. This is something else.

He kisses you like he means it. Like he's choosing to mean it. Like he's never going to let himself forget what this feels like--your mouth wet and warm against his, your hand slipping up to cup his jaw, your thumb tracing the damp corner of his mouth.

He sighs into the kiss, like the weight he's been carrying finally loosens.

"You taste like my chapstick," you murmur against his lips.

"You taste like trouble," he murmurs back.

Your brows lift. "Seriously?"

"I'm trying to be romantic. Shut up."

You smile. It's soft and real and completely wrecks him.

And then he kisses you again--deeper, slower, until the water beating down your shoulders feels far away, until your fingers are tangled in his damp hair, until your breath catches like it's the first time all over again.

When you finally break apart, forehead still touching, his voice is barely a whisper. "You're it for me, you know."

You don't speak right away. You just nod once, because the words would come out too fast, too raw, if you tried.

Instead, you press one more kiss to the corner of his mouth, rest your head against his chest, and let him hold you there.

Let the water rinse away everything else.

Just you and him.

Warm. Real. Yours.

Eventually, the water starts to cool. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and you shiver against him.

Mark notices immediately.

"Alright," he murmurs, reluctantly reaching behind you to turn off the tap. "Come on. Before you freeze."

You nod, stepping carefully out of the tub with his hands steadying your waist the whole way. He grabs a towel and warps it around your shoulders, then reaches for another to dry your hair, ruffling it gently.

You glare. "If I walk out looking like a wet sheepdog, I'm blaming you."

He grins, unapologetic. "You'll still be the hottest sheepdog I've ever seen."

You deadpan. "Do you often see sexy sheepdogs?"

"I try not to judge beauty by species."

You smack his bare chest with the towel. He just laughs and leans in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your forehead--almost like muscle memory now.

"Okay, smartass," you mutter. "Where's that hoodie you promised?"

Mark grabs it off the counter where he folded it earlier, then holds it open for you to slip into. It's huge on you. The sleeves fall past your hands, and the hem hits your thighs like a dress. Still warm from the dryer.

You breathe it in.

It smells like him.

You almost don't want to give it back.

Mark pulls on a fresh t-shirt and sweats, towel-drying his hair as you both glance at your reflection in the fogged mirror. You grimace. Your hair's wild. There's a faint red mark on your neck that's definitely not a bug bite. And your eyes?

Soft. Tired. But happy.

You catch Mark watching you in the mirror and raise an eyebrow.

"What?"

He just shakes his head a little. "Nothing. You just look really..." he trails off.

"Wrecked?"

"I was gonna say beautiful," he says softly. "But, yeah. That too."

You roll your eyes, cheeks flushing. "Shut up."

"Never."

You shove his shoulder on your way out the door, but you're smiling. Quietly. Like you forgot how to stop.

-----

Now you're sitting at the kitchen table in one of Mark's old oversized hoodies--because you didn't bring clothes, because you weren't supposed to sleep over, and because your real outfit is still somewhere on the floor of his bedroom, probably stuck to a wall.

The hoodie hangs halfway down your thighs. Your legs are bare. Two faint hickeys peek out just beneath the collar. And despite Mark's best attempt to brush your hair into something vaguely socially acceptable, you still look like you got steamrolled by the entire Guardians of the Globe.

Mark sits beside you, hunched over, t-shirt pulled halfway up to cover his face. His hand had been in yours in the shower not long ago, rinsing suds from your shoulders like you meant more than a one-time mistake. Now he won't even look up from under his shirt, as if meeting your eyes might make this moment real. You're honestly not sure if he's still alive.

And across the kitchen table...

Debbie Grayson sits.

Calm. Composed.

Drinking her coffee like she didn't just walk in on you mid-sex hangover.

And you want to know someone worse is here?

Nolan Grayson.

Viltrumite. Husband. Father of the man who turned you into jello just hours ago.

He's drinking coffee.

Coffee.

Sitting next to his lovely wife, staring you down with his piercing blue eyes like he's trying to solve the mystery of what exactly his Viltrumite ears heard last night.

Like he didn't hear every moan, whimper, and "Harder, Mark--oh my god don't stop--" echo through the house with his enhanced alien hearing.

You stab your eggs like they personally betrayed you, trying your best to keep your racing heart calm.

Do Viltrumites believe in mercy? Please let it be mercy, you thought, watching Nolan sip his coffee like he wasn't planning your execution with every blink.

The air is thick with shame, tension, and Debbie's fluffy pancakes.

Nolan clears his throat.

"So," he says casually. "Did you both... sleep well?"

Mark lets out a sound somewhere between a squeak and a death rattle.

You try to disappear into your mug of orange juice.

"Oh, they slept great," Debbie chimes, cheerful as hell. "Eventually."

Mark chokes.

You drop your fork.

Nolan's eye twitches.

"You know," Debbie adds, stirring her coffee, "I had no idea the bed frame could withstand that kind of--"

"MOM."

Nolan raises an eyebrow. "Is that what I heard shaking the house at 3 AM?"

You wish for death.

You wish for death immediately.

"W-We were--uh--playing--" Mark gulps. "Scrabble."

You blink at him.

Nolan stares.

"Scrabble," he repeats, slowly.

Mark nods vigorously. "Yeah. It got... competitive."

"Oh yes," Debbie says smoothly. "Lots of screaming. Very vocal game, apparently."

Nolan sets down his mug. "Son... was that you yelling 'I'm gonna fuck you so deep you'll be feeling me for days?'"

Your soul leaves your body.

Mark turns bone white.

"That was taken widely out of context," he whispers.

"Was it before or after she begged you not to stop?"

You audibly wheeze.

Nolan pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, pained sigh.

"This is... so much worse than I imagined."

Debbie sips her coffee. "At least he's not a virgin anymore."

"MOM--"

You want to implode, but you just reach for your toast, hands shaking, trying to find comfort in carbs.

Then Debbie slides a bottle of orange juice in front of you.

"Oh, sweetie? Drink up. Gotta stay hydrated after a long night."

You blink. She winks.

Nolan groans.

And Mark, pale and dead inside, lays his forehead on the table with a soft, broken:

"Please just kill me."

You stare at him for a second, fork hovering mid-air.

"Would you prefer slow and painful," you say dryly, "or fast and dramatic?"

He groans. "Whatever ends this faster."

You pat his head dramatically. "You know she's gonna tell your dad everything."

"She already did," he mumbles into the wood grain. "We're probably gonna get a family group chat notification about it later."

You snort. "With diagrams."

"And bullet points," Mark whispers, eyes wide. "With bolded text."

You both stare at your plates in silence, haunted by the same shared vision of his mom's Google Docs and his dad's silent judgement.

"...I'm not hungry anymore," you say faintly.

"Same."

Mark lifts his head just enough to look at you.

You meet his gaze.

Then both of you slowly, silently, reach for the orange juice.

Not because you want it.

But because Debbie told you to.

And somehow... that's worse.

Debbie hums as she flips a pancake behind you, calm as ever. "You know," she says casually, "I once told your father I wanted grandkids before menopause. Thought it was a joke. Now? Not so sure."

You choke on your orange juice.

Mark makes a sound like a dying animal. "Mom--please."

Nolan rises silently from his chair, grabs his coffee, and mutters under his breath, "I'm going to space," before walking out of the kitchen like he's heading to war.

Silence.

Then Debbie pipes up again, chipper, "Want more eggs, sweetheart?"

You and Mark speak in unison. "NO."

You sit there in the aftermath, toast cold, dignity dead, but... somehow still breathing. Mark nudges your hand under the table--quietly, like he needs to know you're real and still here. You glance at him, and his eyes meet yours.

Still wide. Still traumatized in those big, beautiful brown eyes of his. But there's something softer underneath the mortification. Something honest. Warm. Like even if the earth cracked open and swallowed you whole, he'd reach for you first.

You smile, just a little.

And Mark leans closer, muttering out of the corner of his mouth. "We need to leave this house."

"Like, today," you whisper. "Fake our deaths. Move to Idaho."

"Start over. New names. New lives. No parents."

You both stifle a laugh.

Debbie hums behind you.

Mark leans in even closer. "Or... we sneak back upstairs, lock the door, and finish what we started."

You arch a brow. "You mean Scrabble?"

He smirks, that damn dimple popping out. "Exactly."

And despite everything, despite the trauma, the humiliation, and the pancakes--you want to kiss him again.

You don't.

But you think about it.

And the next time his hand brushes yours?

You don't pull away.

Instead, you lace your fingers with his under the table--quiet, hidden, just for the two of you.

Mark squeezes your hand once before he stands, clearing his throat. "We're, uh--gonna go... lie down."

Debbie doesn't even glance up from her newspaper. "Just don't break anything this time."

Mark grabs your wrist. You don't resist as he pulls you along like a man on a mission--away from the kitchen, up the stairs, and back into the safety of his room, where the door shuts with a merciful click.

Silence.

You both just stand there, staring at each other.

"...That was the worst morning of my life," he mumbles.

You nod slowly. "Easily top three for me. And I've seen a man explode."

Mark lets out a low groan and falls face-first onto the bed. "She winked at you."

"She offered me more eggs."

"She brought orange juice."

You flop down beside him, face-to-face on the mattress, hair still slightly damp from your earlier shower, your legs brushing his under the sheets. "We're gonna have to burn the kitchen down."

"And the bed."

You hum. "I like the bed."

Mark glances at you, mouth twitching into a smirk. "Me too."

Silence settles again, warm and safe this time. No parents. No judgement. Just the two of you, tucked away like the world doesn't exist.

Mark shifts onto his side to face you more directly, eyes tracing your features--your lashes, your lips, the fading flush in your cheeks.

"You still good?" he asks softly, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

You nod. "Yeah. Just... recovering."

His smirk softens. "From the sex or the trauma?"

You pause. "Yes."

Mark laughs, low and quiet. Then his hand moves--slowly, deliberately--to rest against your waist. You feel the pressure of his fingers through the hoodie. Warm. Solid.

Then he murmurs, quiet now:

"Remember what I said in the shower?"

You blink slowly, your heart skipping at the weight in his voice.

"Still true," he says, eyes meeting yours. "All of it."

You don't say anything at first. Just let the words settle between you.

Then you shift closer, tucking your forehead against his chest. "Yeah," you whisper. "Me too."

Mark holds you like that, arms curling around your back, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles over your spine.

"Do you think," you murmur, "your mom would notice if we never came back out?"

"She'd probably bring us snacks."

"...That's the worst idea."

You both laugh again, soft and breathless, the tension finally starting to lift. His breath fans your temple. You feel the slow beat of his heart under your cheek.

And for the first time all morning--maybe longer--you feel okay. Not mortified. Not exposed. Just... okay.

Maybe even a little happy.

Marks kisses your forehead. "We'll survive this."

You lift your head, nose brushing his. "Promise?"

He smiles, really smiles, and dips down to kiss you--soft, slow, a quiet yes pressed against your mouth.

But suddenly, the kiss starts to deepen.

From lips brushing lips, breaths mingling... to eating each others face off. His hands slide up your sides, dragging the hoodie with them, while yours fist in his hair like you're trying to keep him exactly where you want him. The air between you turns hot, greedy--every soft kiss turning sharper, hungrier, until you're both a mess of teeth, tongue, and muffled sounds that have no business being this desperate... not after surviving that awkward breakfast with his parents.

"You're seriously gonna kill me," he murmurs against your mouth, voice low, rough with sleep and leftover embarrassment. "We just survived breakfast."

You grin. "Survived is a strong word."

He chuckles... but it stutters when you shift, thigh nudging between his legs. Your hand slides under his shirt, skimming the ridges of his abs, feeling them tighten under your touch. Higher, higher--you drag the fabric up with you until he lets you peel it off entirely, baring him to the cool air.

Mark shudders.

"I thought we were recovering," he whispers, breathless now, lashes fluttering as you press your mouth to his jaw.

"We are recovering," you say sweetly, biting down on his earlobe before whispering: "This is my fifth form of therapy."

He groans. "I think I just got hard again."

"Think?"

Your hand finds proof in the way his sweatpants tent against your thigh. You palm him slowly through the fabric, watching his jaw go slack.

"Okay," he gasps. "Not think. Definitely hard. Very hard. Dangerously hard. We should do something about that."

"Should we?"

You climb onto his lap.

Mark stares up at you like you're religious experience--bare legs, wild hair, his oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. His hands find your thighs instantly, squeezing hard, like he doesn't trust himself not to black out.

"Fuck," he whispers. "You're not real."

You roll your hips once--just enough to drag a groan from him--and lean forward, lips brushing his.

"Feel real to you?"

He doesn't answer.

He just yanks you down and kisses you like he needs to.

You moan into it, rocking against the growing bulge beneath you. The friction is slow, addictive, maddening. He pulls the hoodie up to your ribs, palms gliding along your waist before sliding around to grab your ass, hard.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me," he gasps again, voice already wrecked.

You grind down harder. "I told you I wasn't done with you."

Mark flips you over before you can get another word in.

One second you're on top, smug and teasing--smirk curling on your lips. The next, you're flat on your back, legs spread, breath knocked out of you as the mattress dips under his weight. His hands are already at your hips, yanking your boxer--his--down with a low, muttered curse.

"You're insane," he mutters, voice rasping like he's already drunk on you. "You're so fucking lucky I love this."

"You do love this," you breathe, squirming under him as he pushes your thighs apart. "Admit it."

"I'm obsessed with it."

And then his mouth is on you--tongue licking into you with no warning, no hesitation, no mercy. You gasp, fists curling in the sheets as he pins your hips down and devours you like a man on a mission. Like he needs this round to prove something. Maybe that he's still in control. Maybe that you're his. Maybe that this--you--is worth every embarrassing second of breakfast.

You cry out his name, louder than you mean to, and he growls into you like that was exactly what he wanted.

"You're so loud," he says, voice muffled against your cunt. "My dad's gonna hear you again."

Your hips jolt, breath catching on a broken moan. "Fuck your dad."

He lifts his head just enough to smirk, lips slick and shiny. "That's what you were doing last night."

You slap his shoulder, breathless.

Then he sinks two long fingers in without warning--and you arch off the bed with a cry.

"Round five," Mark murmurs, dark and reverent as he curls his fingers just right, just deep enough to make your vision blur. "Let's make it count."

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as his fingers curl again--perfect, practiced, hitting that spot that makes your thighs tremble.

"Mark--" you gasp, chest arching into the air. "We just showered--"

"Mm." His lips kiss the inside of your thigh, hot breath skimming your skin before his teeth graze lightly. Eyes half-lidded, dark with want, he murmurs, "Guess we're gonna need another one."

You try to push at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge. Just presses his tongue flat against your clit and sucks.

Your entire body jerks.

"Oh my--f-fuck--!"

He groans into you, like the sound of your voice gets him off. His fingers keep moving--slow, deliberate pumps that stretch you open, wet and hot and obscene.

You're already clenching around him, body tightening with dangerous speed. "M-Mark, baby--I can't--"

"Yes, you can." His voice is low, husky. "You're taking it. Like you always do."

And you do.

You cum hard.

Your back arches off the mattress, thighs clamping around his head, hands fisting the sheets as you cry out. The world blurs into white heat. He doesn't stop. Doesn't slow. He tongue keeps fucking you, greedy and relentless, until your voice breaks, your nails scrape helplessly at his shoulders, and your legs finally give out.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are glossy and smug.

"Still warm," he teases, licking his lips. "Still sweet."

You collapse flat against the bed, trying to catch your breath. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

He slides up your body, one hand stroking your side as he kisses his way up to your neck.

"I should hate you," you mumble.

He grins against your jaw. "But you don't."

And Mark's right.

You don't.

You're soaked, twitching, still gasping--and when he grinds his hips down--when you feel the heavy press of his cock against your thigh--

You whimper.

Mark growls softly. "That's what I thought."

He pushes his sweats down enough to free himself, one hand gripping the base of his cock to line himself up, the other resting on your hip.

He pushes in slow--too slow--like he's teasing you on purpose.

You both groan.

He stretches you open inch by inch, the burn delicious, your pussy already swollen and sore from everything he's done yesterday and today. But you still want it. Still need it.

"Shit," Mark breathes. "You're still so tight. How are you this tight after four rounds?"

Your nails drag down the slope of his spine, lips parting on a needy gasp. "Move, Mark--please--"

He slams in the rest of the way, bottoming out in one sharp, brutal thrust..

You scream.

He doesn't move at first. Just stays there, fully sheathed, buried to the hilt, making you feel every thick, aching inch of him.

His breath shudders against your neck. "Fuck," he pants. "You feel that?"

You nod shakily, too breathless to speak.

"That's where I belong. Right there."

His hand slides to your lower stomach, forcing you to feel exactly where he's buried inside you. The blunt pressure makes you gasp, a sharp moan tearing out as your walls flutter around him. His breath stutters--like he can feel every single pulse.

"Yeah...," he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, "you see how deep I am? How far I'm filling you in?"

Your eyes flicker down, catching the faint bulge under his palm, and your breath stutters violently. Heat floods your body in a dizzy rush, and before you can think, you grind down on him, desperate for more. He groans low, the sound vibrating against your skin.

"That's it," he rasps, eyes dark and locked on yours. "Feel me there. Every inch. Right where you need it."

His hips rolls once--slow, deliberate, mercilessly deep--and the pressure under his hand shifts, punching a broken cry out of you.

"Fuck, Mark--!"

He pulls out halfway--slow enough to make you feel every dragging inch--then slams back, sharp and deep.

You sob. "Oh my god--"

"That's it," he pants, setting a brutal rhythm. His grin is sharp, hungry, a wild look burning in his eyes. "That's my pretty girl. Can't get enough, can you?"

You shake your head, babbling something that isn't even words anymore. He shifts his weight, pressing harder into your lower stomach while his hips snap forward, relentless, every thrust grinding into that exact spot that makes your toes curl. The sound that leaves you is closer to a cry than a moan.

"Louder," he demands, grabbing your leg and throwing it over his shoulder. "I want my parents to hear it this time."

You wail, spine bowing off the bed as the new angle makes him hit--perfect, sharp, devastating--again and again. He groans at the way you tighten around him, watching your body quake under him like he's addicted to it.

"Yeah? Right there?" His voice drops, rough and smug. "Is that your spot? Can't take me without shaking, huh?"

Your nails rake down his back, trying to anchor yourself against the overwhelming rhythm. Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, making your vision go white. He's so deep you can feel him in places you didn't know existed--just heat, stretch, and the ruthless tempo of him owning every part of you over and over that makes your brain turn into mush.

"I--Mark, I can't--!"

"Yes you can," His tone is all command, no mercy. "You're gonna take it. You're gonna cum with my cock this deep and you're gonna feel it for days."

"Mark--Mark, it's too much--!"

"It's not too much. You wanted this. You begged for this. Said it was therapy, right?"

You scream again.

"You wanted round five," he growls, slamming in even harder. "Now fucking take it."

You're crying. Literally crying.

Tears in your eyes, voice broken, nails digging into his back that would leave ugly, red marks. You can feel the pressure inside of you building up--fast. Unbearable. You try to tell him you're already close but the words dissolve into helpless moans.

"Don't you dare hold back," he snarls. "Cum for me. Right on it. Right there."

And then he gives you one, two, three deep, punishing thrusts, holding you in place so you can't run from it, his palm still pressing down like he's making sure you know exactly where he is inside you.

The orgasm rips through you so hard your body locks up, every muscle trembling. Your scream echoes between you, raw and broken, and he fucks you through it, jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours like he's watching you fall apart just for him.

"That's it," he rasps, slowing just enough to draw it out, milking every last aftershock. "That's mine."

Your body collapses back onto the mattress, limp, shaking, every nerve still sparking from the force of it. You can barely breathe, can barely think--and he's still there, still buried deep, still pulsing inside you.

Mark's right behind you--balls tightening, abs clenching, groaning as his forehead drops to yours. "Fuck--gonna cum--where do you want it, baby--?"

Mustering up enough strength, you grab his face, voice a wreck: "Inside."

His pupils blow wide. "Fuck, fuck--!"

His thrusts gets frantic. Sloppy. Desperate. Rhythm faltering as he chases his high.

You feel him twitch, feel his cock swell--then he slams in one last time and spills inside you with a deep, wrecked moan that sounds like your name was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.

His cum fills your insides, warmth spilling deep in hot, thick ropes.

It must be a lot, because the heat just keeps coming, spilling past the tight seal of your body until you feel it dripping down your ass to the sheets.

Mark groans low in his throat, hips grinding like he's trying to push it even deeper, making sure not a drop escapes. "God... look at you," he pants, eyes flicking down between your bodies. "You're full. So full of me."

He groans again, holding you so tight it hurts. His cock is still thick inside you,twitching with the aftershocks, and you can feel the slow, obscene drip of him leaking out around the seal of his length. His breath is ragged against your neck, hot and uneven, like he's not ready to let you go--not ready to let you close up without him there.

"Holy shit," he breathes into your neck.

You can't talk.

You're not even sure if you can talk from how much he made you scream his name out despite the thin walls of his house--loud enough for his mom and dad to hear every filthy word, the headboard slamming against the wall, and the mattress creaking again.

God bless his parents' souls (and their ears).

The hoodie Mark lets you borrow is covered with sweat, so much sweat that it makes your body feel even hotter and disgusting.

With a tired groan, you weakly strip the hoodie off, dropping it on the floor.

Mark doesn't move for a while.

Just lies there on top of you, panting, one arm curled tight around your waist while the other braces himself on the bed. His forehead rests against yours, sticky and damp with sweat, and his breath comes out in warm, ragged exhales across your lips.

You can still feel him pulsing inside you.

Still feel his cum slowly dripping, spreading warmth and ache through your lower belly.

You blink at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. "I think I just met God."

Mark lets out a soft, breathless laugh. "Pretty sure you screamed my name instead."

You snort, weakly smacking his back. "Same difference."

He smiles and kisses you--soft this time. No urgency. No teasing. Just the press of lips, slow and tired, like he's saying I'm still here. We're okay.

He then pulls out with a low groan--the loss making you shiver, and you can feel him leak out immediately, hot and slick against your thigh. Mark just watches it for a moment--almost proud--before he flops onto his back beside you, arms dragging you against his chest.

Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, fingers trailing gently through his hair, damped with sweat. He's still catching his breath, but the heat between you has finally eased into something warmer. Softer.

Real.

He kisses your cheek. Then your temple. Then the side of your neck where a fading bite mark throbs beneath his lips.

"You okay?" he murmurs, voice so hoarse it almost sounds like a rasp.

You nod, barely, because your brain is still somewhere back at the moment he pressed down on your stomach and made you see stars.

Your body feels like it's been wrecked. But not in a bad way. There's a faint sting when you shift, a slow throb between your legs, and your thighs still twitch when his fingers graze too close. But you feel... good. Calm. Full.

He brushes your hair back, looking at you with sleepy eyes and a small, crooked smile.

"I meant it, you know," he says quietly. "When I said I'm not done. Not just with this. With you."

You stare up at him, throat tightening.

"...You're getting sappy on me," you murmur.

"Yeah," he says, unbothered. "Deal with it."

You do.

You reach up, press a kiss to his lips slow. Grateful.

And for a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just breathe. Wrapped around each other in sweat and warmth and something dangerously close to love.

Then, from somewhere outside the door--

Knock knock.

"Kids?" Debbie's voice.

Mark freezes. Your soul leaves your body.

"...We're alive," Mark calls weakly.

"Barely," you mumble.

Debbie hums. "Good. Don't forget to hydrate. I left water bottles by the door. Also--please open a window. This hallway smells like sex and regret."

You groan into your pillow, embarrassment already gnawing at your spine.

Mark throws a sheet over both your heads and mutters, "We're moving out."

You laugh. "For sure."

Under the blanket, you feel him grin against your temple, his arm tightening around you. And even with your face burning and your dignity in shambles, you realize you wouldn't trade this morning--or this mess of a boy pressed up against you--for anything.

“She’s gonna be okay, kid,” Cecil said, walking into the room as the sliding door closed behind him.

“What if they find this place? I don’t want to lose anyone else.” Mark said, his eyebrows frowning as he stood beside Eve’s hospital bed. They encountered two variants on the field. One had worn a hood and was cocky and hot-headed, and the other was eerily similar to his father, same costume, mannerisms, and attitude. It was uncanny.

Mark told Eve to leave, but she didn’t. Her leg got snapped, and her body slammed into the concrete by the Omni variant. Now, she lies unconscious on the bed, hooked to a machine to keep her stabilized.

“They won’t, but we have more pressing matters. If you would follow me.” Cecil stated, leaving the room. Mark looked at Eve’s unconscious body before turning to follow Cecil. She’ll be fine.

“How is it looking out there?” Mark asked.

“The situation is still dire at the moment. Countless cities lie in ruins, and the death toll is estimated in the millions. The good news is that most of the variants have been eliminated.” Cecil replied, opening the doors to the main control room. There were people glued to monitors, watching the events unfold on the screen, attempting to calculate the next moves and tactics.

“I’m assuming there is bad news as well?” Mark inquired, staring at the main screen in the center of the room. It displayed the global map with red dots, representing the surviving variants and their locations. Looked like eight out of eighteen remained, but they were still threats.

“Indeed. As you can see, eight variants survived, but three of them appear to be heading towards Chicago.” The map shifted over to the North American continent. Three red dots, one in Chicago and the other two in Los Angeles and New York City. “The other is coming from Paris. We don’t know why they’re congregating specifically in Chicago. Possibly a meet-up. If the trajectories are correct, the location appears to be in the suburbs.”

“Where exactly in the suburbs?” Mark asked, his voice faltering as a pit formed in his stomach at the implication. The people important to him were in the area. Debbie informed him that she was with Paul in a safe location. You messaged him about bunkering down while William went silent.

“Zoom in on the trajectory. Judging by your tone, someone important is out there.” Cecil said, but Mark didn’t respond; his eyes were glued to the massive screen. As the map zoomed closer to the estimated location, Mark felt his heart drop. Your street appeared.

“I have to go,” Mark said without explanation, but Cecil could tell what was driving the young man.

“Kid, wait!” Cecil couldn’t get a word in as Mark had already left the room. There’s no way he could take on four variants. Some of these variants have more experience and combative skill. He managed two variants, but that was with Eve, and she’s out of commission now. He’s gonna face double the amount. Resources are limited, and the new reanimen, created with the corpses of the fallen variants, are still being developed. Cecil could only sigh.

You were preparing to hide in the furthest section of the house in case those variants decide to pay a visit. You weren’t sure that would work since Mark has superhuman senses, and logic dictates that the impostors share them. Maybe you were delaying the inevitable, playing a game of cat and mouse. You were about to go when a voice grabbed your attention.

It was Mark’s voice, pleading and begging for you.

“Y/n? Are you there? P-please, I need help! I-I uh… ran into one of the variants! Please, Y/n! I’m hurt!” Mark’s voice called out to you, muffled by the wooden door, as he pleaded for you to come to him. You felt your nerves ease as Mark's voice relaxed your muscles. You sighed with relief as you approached the door, but something was off.

Something was itching inside you. There was something wrong with this situation; that voice felt wrong. It sounded like Mark, but there was a hint of malice, dark, and twisted intentions. Just when you thought everything was going to be okay, anxiety and panic shot through the roof. Stepping away from the door, you bolted down the hallway. Mark’s voice continued to call out.

“Y/n, are you there?” The worried, pleading tone dropped, replaced by a soft laugh and scoff. Your intuition proved right. There was a long, drawn silence before a loud crash echoed through the empty house and neighborhood.

“Man, I thought you would fall for that,” the fake Mark said. You could hear his footsteps stepping into the foyer. You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle breathing, gradually moving away from the approaching variant. Mohawk glanced around the interior, same as the one from his universe. That means the same layout, and if his brain serves him correctly, there was a hiding spot. He remembers you showing him the cubby hole during his youth.

Mohawk weighs the options of playing around or going straight for you. He wanted to give you the false sense of security, but he was dead impatient.

“Playing a game of cat-and-mouse? The Y/n from my universe always lost. It's fun playing the predator. I get to pounce on you.” Mohawk said, a twisted grin on his face and a bulge forming in his tight suit. He could hear your muffled breathing and quiet footsteps. He began whistling, hands behind his head as if he were leisurely walking in the park.

Your heart beat peaked, breathing unstable, and adrenaline pumping through your veins as a strong hand grabbed your shoulder and pinned you against the wall. But it wasn’t a wall, it was the variant's chest. His hands came to rest on your hips as he pulled you closer to him. So many thoughts were rushing through your head that you couldn’t keep up. It ranged from ‘oh god I’m gonna die’ to ‘why am I being held like this?’

Turns out Mohawk was impatient.

“Found you,” Mohawk said with a twisted grin. He gleefully laughed as he won his reward. You remain frozen in his unnervingly tight embrace. You got a perfect view of the variant. He looked identical to Mark, but there were noticeable differences. This variant had a distinctive mohawk haircut. His suit was black and blue, a different design, and no mask. Dried blood soaked his uniform, giving him a more menacing appearance.

You could tell this one was unhinged. Not like the others weren’t, but this one was different.

“N-no, please! I—” Your begging was cut off by Mohawk leaning closer. Your train of thought collapsed as the variant began sniffing your hair and skin, his hands rubbing into your clothed skin. You could feel his heavy breathing, his lips touching and gliding over your neck—over your pulse.

“M’not gonna hurt you,” Mohawk muttered, his grip tightening. Strangely, your body went at ease. You exhaled the air trapped in your throat. Your hands crept up Mohawk’s chest; you could feel his defined body underneath your palms. Your mind said this wasn’t Mark, but your heart registered him as your boyfriend. This was confusing; it was shattering your perception.

“I don’t—” before you could finish, Mohawk pulled from your neck and kissed you.

The kiss was surprisingly soft. His lips molded with yours as he deepened it. His tongue pushed past your teeth—exploring your oral cavity. Mohawk's taste, lips, and technique are similar to your Mark's. Your eyes widened from the gesture, but this kiss was meant to disarm you, and it was working. You began melting from the kiss, moaning softly as Mohawk refused to pull back. Your arms even left his chest to wrap around his shoulders.

You admit to enjoying the kiss, but reality was setting in. You were kissing a deranged, psychotic version of your boyfriend. Kissing a mass murderer, an impostor who wore his face. Panicking, you tapped and pushed at Mohawk’s shoulders, signaling to let go—and to breathe. Mohawk did let go only to dive into your neck. He bit, licked, and sucked on your skin, leaving bruises and marks.

“Fuck… you taste the same, no, better than I could’ve imagined.” Mohawk murmurs, groaning into your neck. Your face was pulsating red now. Soft moans escaped your lips as Mohawk ravaged your neck while greedily grinding against your thigh. You could feel his hardening bulge, the same size and thickness as Mark's. There was a fluttering sensation in your stomach, blooming through your body as it began reacting to Mohawk’s ministrations.

“I’m sorry,” Mohawk whispered. The admission caught you off guard, but the variant continued whispering in fragmented confessions.

“W-what? W-why are you here?” You stammered, facepalming inwardly at your weak, cracking voice. There was a jarring silence. Mohawk’s grip loosens as he frees you from his firm grasp. You took the opportunity to back away, but the variant intertwined his hand with yours.

“You. I was promised you. He promised me.” Mohawk answered. He was vague on who was behind the promise, but an educated guess would be that this unknown man is responsible for the global crisis that unfolded.

“Who exactly gave you that promise? A-and why me? What happened to me from your universe?!” You demanded to know, even though you were in no position to demand answers. Mohawk didn’t appear offended or have the urge to pop your head off. Instead, a somber expression fell on his face, and he finally spoke.

“I killed you,” Mohawk replied in a quiet voice. Your stomach dropped from the confession. You expected it, but you were still surprised. “I thought you were a weakness, like everyone else. So, I killed you for fun; I made a little game. I’ve come to regret that mistake.” The silence was palpable.

“That sounds like a pretty hefty mistake.” Before Mohawk could reply, there was another explosion outside. You yelped as the windows shattered from the impact and shockwave. Mohawk grunted, pulling you beside him as footsteps approached. A figure turned the corner. It was another variant. This one wore the same uniform as the Viltrumite woman with the Empire’s insignia on his shoulders.

“Great, another one.” You mumbled, laughing to cover up your sobbing and whining, as now you were stuck in the middle between two variants. Viltrum’s eyes landed on you, completely ignoring Mohawk’s presence and touch.

“Y/n… It's really you…” Viltrum muttered, stepping closer to you and Mohawk. His hardened, stoic features softened, light and life returning to his dull eyes. Heavy emotions were crushing Viltrum, something he’s suppressed for years. He finally gets to see you again. The familiar warmth and fluttering feeling filled his body, overwhelming his senses. His voice shattered that moment.

“Wow, wow, finders keepers, soldier boy. I got to him first!” Mohawk snarled, letting go of your wrist to size up the new arrival. Viltrum’s expression hardens as he crosses his arms. Mohawk pushes him back, his feet screeching against the hard wooden floor. Mohawk would be damned if anybody tried to take you from him after everything he went through and did for you. Soldier boy wasn’t going to lay a finger on you.

While they were distracted, you took the opportunity to sneak away. Surely they wouldn’t hear your quiet footsteps over their grunting and movements. The two variants were about to brawl when another crashed echo, ruining your chances to escape and catching the others' attention.

‘Another one?!’ you screamed internally.

The back door was busted open, and another variant walked through. This one costume was black and yellow, with black lenses, and a long yellow cape that draped over his shoulders. There wasn’t anything different other than his costume and his noticeably paler skin tone. You could tell his gaze landed on you as a wicked grin spread on his face, but it dropped into a sneer when he noticed Mohawk and Viltrum.

“Tsk, pity. I thought you’d both be dead; then I would’ve claimed him without problems.” Sinister commented, taking a few strides towards you. Mohawk and Viltrum halted their infighting, their attention fully on the black-and-yellow variant. Their bodies tense as Mohawk dashes to you.

“Unfortunate really.” Sinister thought it would be a walk in the park, take you, and bring you back home, but apparently, others wanted a piece of you.

“This dimension was weak! Hardly put up a fight.” Mohawk mocked with Viltrum nodding in agreement. He wasn’t going to mention how this dimension’s Mark knocked him out.

“I made swift work of my opponents,” Viltrum added, his voice unnervingly cold and calm. The tension in the room heightened as the variants looked among each other, calculating potential attacks. The silence was heavy until a distinctive whoosh of flight sliced it, and a gust of wind knocked everybody onto the ground.

These variants were dropping like candy! They were attracted to you like a lion stalking its prey. Despite being from different dimensions and facing different circumstances and choices, you must have held some importance to them.

You were disoriented, groaning and moaning until someone hoisted you onto your feet. Your vision was blurry; you couldn’t make out the person in front of you. You blinked a few times until the figure was clearer. It was another variant; it must have flown through one of the blasted entrances.

Unlike the others, who had distinctive features and suits, this one looks identical to the original Mark. If both were side by side and wearing the same clothes, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

This variant had a mixture of sorrow and disbelief with a hint of relief. You noted this variant wasn’t wearing a mask, a piece of cloth that Mark always wore. You said nothing as Maskless bore his eyes into your skull, biting your lips with a weak smile. Suddenly, you were pulled into a tight embrace, strong arms wrapping around your mid-section, and his face was nuzzled into your hair.

Unlike Mohawk, Maskless was gentler and tender. Your heart skipped a beat; his touch was similar to your Mark. Then, he spoke, his voice soft and laced with worry and relief. “Y/n, it's been so long. I never thought I would see the day… you’re not hurt, are you? These savages didn’t hurt you?”

This was uncanny, looked identical to Mark, and acted like him. Maskless pulled away and cupped your cheek; your face turned red. The variants got up and glared at Maskless, with Mohawk being the first one to bark.

“You ain’t calling me a ‘savage,’ and he’s fine. Look at him.” Mohawk snapped, venom and possessiveness in his voice.

“I would like to believe that until I saw Upstate in ruins. You could’ve killed him!” Maskless barks back, unfazed and undeterred by Mohawk.

“Well… uh, he wasn’t there! And I got here first, which makes him mine! So, back the hell up!” Mohawk growled as he was about to punch Maskless’s head off. He wasn’t going to admit that Maskless was right. He was reckless and didn’t pay attention to those he killed. That changed when he saw William among the ruins and remembered that you attended the same university. He thought he killed you, but William confirmed you left campus.

“You don’t have the authority to claim him.” Viltrum bumps in, grabbing Mohawk and Maskless by their shoulder and pulling them away from you.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! Y/n doesn’t belong to you—you don’t get to decide for him!” Maskless said, agreeing with Viltrum. While they continued to bicker, Sinister took the opportunity to come behind you, leaning down to your ear.

“You’re not as bold as the Y/n from my universe. Doesn’t matter, but I wonder if your flesh tastes the same.” Sinister pondered. A sadistic, twisted expression etched on his face. He licked his upper lip, curious about your flavor. You froze, and the argument among the other variants fell silent as you thought about what had happened to your alternate version.

“Y/n from my dimension put up a valiant fight, but I snuffed him out. Tore him apart, limb from limb, and kept his eyes to look at. Oh, and ate some of him.” You were gobsmacked. The others must have heard it as well because their infighting stopped and turned towards you. “However, after that, I felt empty. I refused to believe I was attracted to you; I chalked it up to being obsessed with you. I kept thinking about you. I’ve come to realize I made an error of judgment.”

“I– wha…” You stammer. “You killed and ATE me? And regret it?” Sinister nodded in confirmation, and guilt and regret washed over him. “So, I’m dead in all of your dimensions?” you asked. The remaining three nodded.

“My dad… k-killed my Y/n. He said you were an obstacle. I-I never stopped loving you after your death.” Maskless said, his voice wavering and breaking as the memory flooded his mind.

“I wanted Y/n as my mate. I wanted to save him from his mundane life, but he became a rebel when the empire arrived. He was executed.” Viltrum replied, his hardened expression faltering, as he took on a somber look. Everyone turned to Mohawk, awaiting his response.

“Mm? Oh, right… You already know, but I killed you and enjoyed it. Also, kinda created a harem of your lookalikes,” Mohawk replied. The variants gave Mohawk a weird look, agreeing amongst themselves that no other human could replace you, while you were shocked and intrigued.

“What? Are we forgetting that Bumblebee over there ate his? Mine isn’t that bad,” the variant defended.

You stayed silent. You were intrigued by the circumstances that led to your death in different dimensions. Maskless seemed the most reasonable, Viltrumite sounded reasonable, but he didn’t go into depth about what pushed you into rebellion, and Sinister and Mohawk honestly scare you. Fear aside, you were conflicted on how to feel. The four of them deeply care and want you.

You could only imagine the horrors or situations they experienced in their respective dimensions, but at the same time, they’re all mass murderers. They wreaked havoc on the world and possibly killed millions of people, blood staining their hands.

“So, do any of you regret what you’ve done?” you asked.

“I don’t regret it—I mean, I do regret the killing and destruction of half of Europe, but if I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t get to see you again,” Maskless replied with a heartfelt response, causing you to blush again; damn weak emotions. Viltrum agreed, somewhat agreeing with Maskless.

“Meh, I enjoyed what I was doing cause I knew you were at the end,” Mohawk replied, shrugging. Given how he’s been acting, you should’ve expected that response coming from him. And it wasn’t a surprise when Sinister agreed with him.

“You may not be the same Y/n from our dimensions, but that doesn’t matter. We get a second chance,” Viltrum spoke with the other variants, who nodded in agreement. Right, a second chance. Each of them wants you, but you’re Mark’s boyfriend: this dimension’s Mark. This complicates things. They seem solely focused on you and do not want to inflict harm on you again.

“Right, but… I’m in a committed relationship with Mark, this dimension’s Mark.” You said, and the mood shifted. Each of the variants had a murderous intent on their faces from hearing your Mark’s name. Feral behavior mixed with restrained jealousy and boiling anger. They weren’t going to tolerate that.

“He doesn’t deserve you! He left you all alone! You could’ve died from one of the others! One of them… think it was the one with no goggles, was going to do horrible things to you! He can’t protect, but I can! He failed you!” Maskless ranted. His soft, restrained demeanor turned into a maniacal and lovesick one. A crazed smile on his face as he approached you, reaching out to cup your cheeks. You were taken aback, but you shouldn’t be surprised; he was still an evil version of Mark.

“Hey, back off! If I’m not mistaken, finders keepers! He’s mine! I’ll kill all of you if I must.” Mohawk snarled, punching Maskless into the nearby wall, leaving a sizable hole. You yelped as the variant wraps his arm around your waist. The alliance between them was collapsing.

“Oh, I’d like to see you try. I’ve been itching for an actual fight.” Sinister said, cracking his neck and stretching his muscles.

“I’m far superior to you; you won’t stand a chance,” Viltrum grunted, preparing to launch himself at Mohawk. Mohawk barked bullshit at the other variant. The situation was deteriorating rapidly, but the scene was interrupted by another voice, Mark’s voice, your Mark.

“Y/n!” Mark yelled as he hovered over your home. He noticed a massive crater in the middle of the street, windows shattered, and cars overturned by a powerful shockwave. He would’ve come faster if Cecil hadn’t held him back. Mark was panic-stricken; he wasn’t sure what he was gonna do or react if he saw your corpse.

“Mark!” You yelled back, pulling the attention of the Marks. You were thinking of running out and meeting up with your Mark, but Sinister anticipated it. Either way, it's not like you’ll make it far with four superpowered variants.

“Ah, ah, you’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.” Sinister purrs, pulling you into his chest. His hands rested on your hips as your head was buried in his chest, nuzzling in his pectorals. The others weren’t gonna pay mind to the sight, focused on dealing with the original Mark. Still jealous though.

Mark heard your screaming, floating to the ground, and entered through the massive hole in the front. He didn’t have to go deeper when he saw three of his variants ready to kill him, and the other one had you against his chest. “Let go and leave him alone! Or I'll make you.” Mark growled.

“Aww, I’m so scared! I’ve been wanting a round two.” Mohawk mockingly said with a sadistic grin. He was gonna kick the original Mark so hard in the balls that they would rupture.

“You’re outnumbered. You don’t stand a chance.” Viltrum stated, his voice void of any emotions except fury. His gaze was stone cold, calculating, and heavy. He wasn’t going to let this dimension’s Mark interfere.

“Finally, coming to your senses that Y/n is more important?” Maskless said with a venomous sneer. If he were your boyfriend, your safety and well-being would be his number one priority. You’d be the safest person on Earth!

You couldn’t see what was going on, your face buried in Sinister’s pectorals, but it seemed like the situation was getting heated, like a nuclear explosion was about to go off. You had to do something! There was no way Mark stood a chance against four powerful versions of himself. You had to brainstorm, or Mark would be crushed into a meat pancake of skin and bones. Taking into consideration that the variants seem to listen to you—somewhat—you surmised a plan.

Using their obsession and desire to have you, you could make a demand to spare Mark. While they were violent, unhinged, and sadistic, they’re still capable of reason and negotiating, as long as it benefits them. What more could they want than you? In their eyes, you were the diamond they’d been searching for. They’ll listen to you, hopefully.

“Mark…” You mumbled, calling out to the variant. Sinister peered down, and before he said anything, you leaped forward. Smashing your lips against his, Sinister was bewildered but gave in, returning the kiss.

You squirmed in Sinister’s grasp, like Mohawk, it was surprisingly gentle, but it quickly became heated and needy. Sinister was feverishly devouring your mouth, his tongue overpowering yours, and his hands keeping you in place while groping your body.

Same as Mohawk, you hated how you were enjoying the kiss. Same as your Mark with his own special twist that you enjoy. Sinister was yearning, desperate to taste you, something he wanted to know without eating your body. Now that he’s got a taste, Sinister doesn’t want this to stop. His hands are rubbing your hips and rear, squeezing and pulling as he gives slow thrusts.

Your moans were drowned out as you grinded your body against Sinisters. He was grinding against you as well; you could feel his clothed erection pressing on yours. It felt the same length and thickness that your body craved. You were losing yourself, your body and mind melting without resistance, probably due to the lack of oxygen.

Mark and the variants paused, watching the scene before them. The variants threw death glares at Sinister, seething with jealousy. Mark, on the other hand, was appalled. He couldn’t formulate a thought, but his body was already reacting for him. His dick was chubbing up in his tight costume. Why was it hot watching his boyfriend being dominated by one of his variants?

Mark wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He was no stranger to watching other men fuck his boyfriend; he liked being a cuck. It was a massive turn-on for him; this was nothing different, but it was his variants. The same variants that wreaked havoc and killed millions across the world. Yet, he couldn’t help but get horny. Not exactly the right time.

Sinister pulled back, your breathing heavy and face flustered. He chuckles and smiles, a dark and feral one. He wants to hear your cries, wondering if it's the same as the Y/n from his dimension. The others’ presence, unfortunately, ruined his thoughts.

“Aww, come on! He gets a kiss, but I can’t?” Maskless commented, whining and pouting. He’s screaming that he’s more deserving and worthy.

“Unfair…” Viltrum grumbled, scoffing under his breath.

“Ha, speak for yourselves, I got my taste.” Mohawk boasts, brags, and taunts Maskless and Viltrum. Both variants roll their eyes, cursing Mohwk and Sinister.

“Was Y/n this much of a minx? Didn’t get much time with mine,” Sinister asked, spinning you to face the others. He grinds his bulge against your leg, foaming like a feral animal. His dick is throbbing to have sex with you. Viltrum wondered the same, as he didn’t get to experience his Y/n.

“Oh yeah, before I killed him, he would bounce on my dick like he was dying,” Mohawk said, licking his lips as he looked at your disheveled state. He could feel the blood rushing to his lower body. That was the same face you’d give him when he was balls deep inside you, lost in the throes of sex and lust.

“Yeah, same,” Maskless answered, his face flustered, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. He reminisces about you riding him, bouncing on his dick, or pushing back to meet his thrusts. Viltrum remained silent as he observed, but he was feeling the same thing as the others: horny.

You had some rational thoughts left to propose a ceasefire between the variants and Mark, but it was spoiled when Mark launched himself at Mohawk.

“Stay away from him!” Mark yelled, landing a square shot on the variant's face. Your already ruined home—mainly the downstairs—shook for the third time, rubble and dust choking the air. Mohawk’s body flew a few houses down, and the two engaged in combat.

“No, wait! Fuck, shouldn’t you do something?!” you shrieked, turning to the other variants.

“Nope, let them fight, then we’ll take out who’s remaining,” Viltrum spoke with a firm voice; his face was indifferent. To him, it was better for the competition to kill or weaken each other. Maskless and Sinister backed Viltrum. It was weird how civilized they are despite wanting to kill each other.

“Just want to have you back,” Maskless muttered.

“Eh, I couldn't care less. Now, how about we continue?” Sinister whisper, leaning into your shoulder. His teeth grazing your skin as he laces it with bites.

You gasp softly, but groan in frustration. Despite the roughness, your body leaned into Sinister’s touch, begging for more. Viltrum and Maskless approached, and you could see the hunger and yearning in their eyes. Sinister didn’t oppose, probably cause he didn’t want to kill you accidentally.

“L-listen! Can you stop them for me? I… have something to say.” You begged Maskless and Viltrum, attempting to mask your flustered face with seriousness. The variants paused, weighing the options. The choice was obvious. You’re their weakness, so they conceded, launching themselves into the sky towards the brawling Marks.

A few minutes passed, and they returned with a bloodied Mohawk and Mark. Mohawk was bleeding from the nose with bruises on his cheek, and his costume was ripped, revealing his body underneath. The same could be said for Mark, although he didn’t look as bad as Mohawk, sporting some bruises and scars. Mark wanted to say something, but you shut him down.

“I… please, spare him.” Your request was simple, but it was met with disapproval and discontent. “If you spare him… I’ll uh…”

“Have sex with us?” Mohawk said with a shit-eating grin, finishing your sentence before you could. “And lover boy can watch. Show him that we’re better.” Your dick jumped at the suggestion. An orgy with four variants of Mark? That’s something you would sign up for, but a part of you was screaming no.

Mark didn’t say anything. Was he gonna watch four variants of himself fuck his boyfriend? That sounded hot as fuck. His dick sprang to life, causing him to squeeze his thighs to hide his erection. He should have voiced his disapproval, but he didn’t, and neither did you.

“Well, since no one is speaking up, let’s take this to your room.”

… (There’s no Markcest in this) …

Mark sat across from you and the others—the same chair where he watches other men fuck you, this time it was versions of himself. He was stripped of his clothing, his flaccid dick resting on his thigh, his nipples hardening from the cold air, and his chiseled body tightening. Mark previously wanted to avoid watching since it was bizarre to comprehend watching four clones of himself fucking his boyfriend, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

His once flaccid dick was slowly rising, blood pumping into the piece of flesh as he listened to your labor moans and breathing. You and the variants were naked as well; you were the center of their attention.

They touched and pulled at your body, wanting you to be closer to them. They worshipped you as if you were a delicate piece of porcelain—well, somewhat as the Mohawk and creepy, sadistic ones were rougher. The other two were gentler, albeit Mark could tell they were gonna descend into feral beasts. You can handle one Viltrumite, but can you handle four at once?

Sinister was behind you, occupying your right shoulder blade. He plastered bites and kisses on your skin, deep bites that caused some blood to seep through. You yelped, gasping as his canines pierced your skin barrier. His groans were muffled as he indulged in your blood, lapping and sucking the thick, metallic substance. One of his hands groped your pectorals, toying and flicking your nipple.

“Mmm, same flavor as my Y/n. Need more.” Sinister grunts, grinding his rock-hard dick against your ass. You could feel his heavy breathing and hear his moans pressing your ear. His ministrations were getting rougher as he greedily attempted to take possession. You chalked this up to his lack of experience with you from his dimension.

Parallel to Sinister, Viltrum occupied your left shoulder blade. Unlike his counterpart, he pressed soft kisses on your nape and shoulder. It was sloppy. His tongue lapped at the sweat forming on your skin, his mouth opened as he continued wetting your skin with his saliva. His fingers traced the middle of your back, kneading the flesh.

This is everything he could have wanted, besides sharing you with the others. He remembers having to breed with other humans and that vile woman. He wasn’t so gentle with them, regarding them as nothing more than a means of filling quotas. Viltrum remained silent as he basked in your body. His kisses slowly transitioned into bites, and sucking hickies on your neck, targeting the pressure points.

You couldn’t think when Maskless wrapped his lips around your cock. He kissed and worshipped your stomach before moving down to your crotch. The constant stimulation you were receiving from the variants caused your dick to pump and throb. Maskless eagerly sucked your dick, his tongue flicking your sensitive tip and swirling around your length.

His warm, wet mouth was expertly deepthroating you. His hand came to fondle your heavy balls, and the other massaged your thigh. You bit back a loud moan, but Mohawk protested otherwise. Mohawk was on the same side as Viltrum, in the front, but he was more focused on your pectorals, especially your nipples and ass.

“Ah, ah, ah! We all wanna hear you, especially him over there.” Mohawk growled before returning to your chest. Your eyes then moved to Mark; he was jerking off, slowly pumping his dick with long strokes. His mouth was agape, and his defined, chiselled body was glistening with sweat. You could see his balls fapping against his hand when he thrust into his fist. The sight was as stimulating as the variants’ abuse of your weak points.

You were dragged out of your daze when Sinister yanked your head back, gripping your hair as he smashed his lips against yours. Like the prior one, he dominated your mouth. While you were being suffocated, Mohawk’s hands groped and squeezed your ass cheek before journeying deeper. His fingers probed around your entrance, tracing the tight rim and poking inside.

You pulled back from Sinister’s kiss, your cries and moans echoing through the quiet house and neighborhood. It was too much, and you reached your climax, shooting your load down Maskless’s throat, who eagerly gulped it down. You glance down at Maskless. He was grinning as he swallowed, licking his lips and teeth. He got up from his position and pulled you into a kiss; you could taste the remains of your load on his tongue.

“Mmm, sweet, don’t you think? Tastes the same as I remembered.” Maskless said, pulling back as he felt the accomplishment of his action. You were the world in his dimension. He always made sure to bring you to multiple orgasms, and he was gonna do the same with you. There was much-needed time to catch up.

“Don’t think we’re done, babe,” Mohawk cooed, keeping his fingers near your puckered entrance. He tilted your head away from Maskless, examining your lips before licking the remnants of cum. “Mmm, it tastes sweet and somewhat bitter.”

“I think it's time we change the pace,” Viltrum stated, pushing you onto your knees. You came face-to-face with four identical dicks, all of them erected and throbbing, precum leaking from the slit. Your mouth was agape, tongue sticking out, and you were panting as you felt your body relax at the sight and aroma. This was a dream come true.

Similar to Mark’s dick, they were above-average size, but the shaft was thick—intimidatingly thick. Veins covered the shaft like a traceable roadmap, a prominent vein leading to the tip—something that was sensitive for Mark. You could see them pulsating. The head was swollen and broad, and a deep shade of red—a testament to their neglected needs. Precum glistened on the head, ribbons dripping.

Viltrum’s base was surrounded by a tight, trimmed patch of dark hair, while Mohawk’s and Sinister’s bases were messy but not thick bushes. Maskless’s patch was clean-shaven. Their balls were swollen and heavy, churning with thick loads that needed to be drained. You salivated, your lustful gaze switching between cocks.

Your brain short-circuited, succumbing to baser, primal sexual instinct. The reluctant, nervous feeling about having sex with Mark’s variants vanished, replaced with a feral need and desire. The main problem was which one to start with; all of their cocks were appealing. Doing eenie, meeny, miney, moe…

“Fuuuccckkk.” Viltrum cursed, letting out a guttural moan as he felt your tongue tracing his dick’s veins: Just as you suspected. Holding the base, you gave long licks, teasing the veins and cockhead. His precum touched your taste buds, tasted weird, an unfamiliar taste that you had never had. It was bearable though.

The others were displeased with your choice, wanting to be the first, but they’ll have a chance with your mouth.

After toying with Viltrum’s dick, you took it into your mouth. You moan from the thickness, stretching your oral cavity the deeper you swallow. Breathing through your nose and soothing your throat, you began bobbing up and down on his thick cock. You produced and gathered spit onto your tongue, lathering his length. You choked and coughed but pushed through, switching between sucking and stroking.

Viltrum was vocal, grunting and moaning as you sucked his dick. His eyes rolled back as it felt like you were sucking the life out of him. Your mouth was like a fleshy vibrator, tingling his dick in a good way. His hands came to your head, his fingers running through your hair and gripping it as he began to fuck your throat.

Mark bated his breath, groaning as he watched Viltrum use your mouth like his personal toy. He watched you begin stroking the others' dicks, arching your back, and eagerly taking them into your hands. He tips his head back, biting his lips as he squeezes his cock, preventing an early orgasm. His fist was coated with precum. His swollen tip was a shade of red, and his balls throbbed.

Mark still couldn’t believe something like this was happening. Out of all the possibilities that were running through his mind when this all started, he didn’t anticipate this: getting cucked by himself from other dimensions. Watching these variants have their way with you while he observes, naked and stroking his dick. Despite the unusual circumstances, Mark was enjoying this more than he expected.

“It's hard to believe we’re the same person. Pathetic.” Mark returned his attention to the voice; it was Sinister.

“Right? Fully expected him to fight, but nah. Guess he’s more interested in jerking off. What’s that word called?” Mohawk chimed in, laughing and joining Sinister in humiliating Mark while humping your hand.

“A cuck?” Maskless responded, grunting as he felt your hand move onto him.

“Yeah, that. Couldn’t be me. I’d rip any heads if someone tried th—” Mohawk’s sentence was cut off in a choke moan when you moved from Viltrum’s dick to his. He didn’t hold back and began to thrust his hips. “Fuck, babe.” Mohawk moans as your warm, wet mouth eagerly sucked his dick. His balls slapping against your chin, your slurping and gurgling becoming audible as drool seeps through your mouth.

“W-what’s… a cuck?” Viltrum asks, breathing heavily. He looked like a mess, his face sweaty and flustered. He wasn’t familiar with this term or its meaning.

“A cuck is someone who gets hard from watching his partner get fucked by another man. Prime example over there.” Sinister replied, pointing to Mark. Viltrum seemed to understand and agreed with Mohawk’s statement. Nobody touches what’s rightfully his.

Mark avoided eye contact, but the humiliation made his dick throb and leak more. They continued to poke fun at him. It was mainly Sinister and Mohawk who kept humiliating Mark, mocking and laughing at him. It appeared he was the only one who had a cuckold kink.

None of the others liked to share the same thing, boasting that they’ll kill anyone who’d do that. They were possessive of their Y/n to some degree. Maybe he wasn’t alone; the multiverse is expansive. Though the variants he ran into didn’t seem like the type to have a cuckold kink — maybe the one that wore Omni-man’s suit had a daddy kink? That would be ironic.

“T-think he’s the… fuck… only one: he’s an anomaly,” Maskless said, controlling his breathing as you moved to his dick. Like Viltrum, he was vocal, moaning and whining to his heart's content. It had been so long since he last had his dick sucked. After your death, he didn’t take another person; you were irreplaceable.

“He’s a pussy, makes sense,” Mohawk exclaimed, wanting Mark to hear him.

You switched between variants, going full circle. Making sure each one received a handjob or blowjob. You were breathless, your chest heaving, and your lungs sucked of oxygen—a burning sensation in your chest, but you admired your handiwork.

Their dicks were lathered with your saliva and their precum. Their glistening cocks stood tall and proud, almost an arrogant stance of their superiority and dominance. You could see the massive lengths throbbing and flinching, missing the warm cavern of your mouth.

A hunger overcame you, their cum. You wanted them to cum.

“Think it's time we prepare you for the main course, and by we, I mean me. I call dibs.” Mohawk asserted, leaving no room for protest as he assumed his position, lying flat on the floor and hoisting you over his body, your ass coming into his view. He was giggling, a dark and lustful giggle as he licked his lips at his early Christmas present before him.

“What are you—” You were cut off by a discernible slap followed by another. You gasped and moaned softly. Mohawk’s rough hands groped your cheeks before delivering another slap. He grinned as he watched the flesh jiggle and ripple from the impact.

“Don’t worry, babe. Go back to what you were doing. I got you. Oh, and arch your back for me?” Mohawk purred, returning his gaze to the grand prize. You nodded, following Mohawk’s word and continuing to suck and stroke the other Marks and arching your back to give Mohawk more ass to deal with.

Pulling you closer, Mohawk marveled at your ass. It was thick. Thicker and bigger than the Y/n from his dimension. He was salivating, foaming as he groped and squeezed your cheeks. His fingers are digging into your flesh, clawing at the skin. You must have been working your ass out; it was firm but soft to the touch.

‘That lucky bastard.’ Mohawk cursed the original Mark, jealousy evident on his face. That bastard had a hot piece of ass on his boyfriend and wasn’t making use of him? If he were your boyfriend, he would’ve been worshipping your ass every day—screw the countless lives that depend on him. He would have you on his dick 24/7.

Mohawk spread your ass cheeks wide open, revealing your tight, puckered asshole. He could see the tight ring of muscle pulsing. It beckoned him to move forward. Extending his tongue, Mohawk pressed it against your hole, hungrily lapping at the ring. He blew against your hole, smirking as it twitched before deliberately licking again.

“Mmmm!” You moaned with a mouthful of cock, one of the variants groaning from above.

Mohawk smirks as he begins to press sloppy kisses, hearing your muffled moans. A surge of pride and satisfaction filled him as he switched between the two methods. Your asshole was now sloppy, coated with his spit, but he wasn’t done. He wanted to enjoy a couple more minutes.

You felt tapping on your hips. Releasing the cock from your mouth, you looked over your shoulder.

“Now go on, sit on me.” Mohawk urged. He didn’t elaborate further, but you can detect the feral, hungry tone. He wanted to be buried between your cheeks. Biting your bottom lip, you gave him what he wanted, moving and hovering over his face so you could smush your ass against him. A whimper escaped your lips as his tongue penetrated your asshole.

Mohawk’s groans were muffled as he feasted on your ass. His hands slapped your cheeks as he forced your full weight on him. There was a faint, sloppy, and squelching sound; he was munching on you. He fucked your ass with his tongue. This was heaven.

While Mohawk was enjoying and preparing your ass, the other variants continued to use your mouth. They were getting more vigorous with you. By this time, your jaw was hurting, aching from being used by the Marks. You were gonna push through it though, you could taste the fruits of effort as their cocks throbbing and notice more leakage, hear their breathing becoming labored, and hear them hitching. Your neglected cock was on the verge of another orgasm—another from just sucking.

“F-fuuuccckkk… gonna cum…” Maskless cried, gripping your head and thrusting into your mouth with force. His head tipped back, and his eyes rolled back. He roared, slamming your head into his crotch and holding it there. His heavy balls rested against your chin, pumping as the first shots hit the back of your throat.

Maskless’s body tenses as this was the first orgasm he had had in months. Your cheeks hollowed as you tried to keep up, instinctively gulping his load. The taste was strong, musky, and sweet: A unique flavor. Another and another wad of his thick, creamy load burst into your mouth as you worked overtime to keep it from leaking.

Yours and Maskless moans mixed—further stimulating the variant. It felt endless. Some dribbled past your lips, soaking the ground underneath.

“T-Taking it so good… o-oh god.” Maskless whines, his hips jerking before relaxing as the last spurts weakened. You pulled back with a wet plop, giving Maskless’s cock a few licks and sucking on the tip to clean it, earning a weak moan. There was a web of spit and cum connecting your mouth to his tip; the sight was erotic.

You caught a glimpse of Maskless’s disheveled and sweaty face. He was panting, mouth agape as he returned your gaze. His brown eyes showed he was satiated, but still hungered for more. He had that glint in his eyes, the same glint Mark would give when he wasn’t done, and that it was only the beginning. That Viltrumite stamina was a force to be reckoned with.

“Alright, my turn.” Sinister interrupts, giving you no chance to recover as he yanks you over to him and Viltrum. Instead of using your mouth, Sinister and Viltrum crowded you, stroking their cocks over you. Your eyes twinkled. You were going to be covered with their hot, thick seed.

“G-gonna cum, love…” Viltrum groans, slapping his heavy cock against your face. The precum and saliva left a trail on your cheek, and the tip poked your right eye. Sinister followed the same path as Viltrum, but would sometimes ram his dick into your mouth, grinning as you choked and coughed on his dick.

“Keep your head like that.” Sinister grunts, his free hand lifts your chin. The variant didn’t need to say anything; you can tell what was coming next. You stuck your tongue out and waited, your cock throbbing and balls tightening. Their grunts filled the room, dicks and balls throbbing as ropes of thick cum spurted from the tips.

You gasped as your face was painted with their cum. Same as Maskless, they were releasing gallons of cum. Cum coated your face, and some landed in your hair. Sinister and Viltrum thrust into their fists, milking the last droplets before settling. Some landed in your mouth, but the majority landed on your face.

On the other side of the room, Mark gave a few more thrusts and cums at the same time. His hips lifted and jerked as ropes of cum coated his fist and the floor. That was probably the best orgasm he’s ever experienced being a cuck. The sheer amount astonished him. Falling back on the chair, Mark takes a moment to recollect himself.

Mark pants, taking gulps of air. His head was tilted to the side as he glanced back at his boyfriend and the variants. The three above looked drained, but their stamina returned in a matter of moments, their cocks jumping to life as the lustful thirst repeats. Those Marks must have been dehydrated in their dimensions—you were the reason— and now it's finally being quenched.

His thoughts began conjuring vivid images. Your face coated with thick globs of cum, dried tears streaming down your cheeks from the brutal throatfucking, and your eyes filled with pure ecstasy. Mark mutters under his breath as his spent, flaccid cock slowly rises.

Mark also notes the other one with a Mohawk. For a couple of minutes, he’s been buried underneath you, munching and worshipping your ass. He had a firm grasp on your hips, holding you down as he feasted—not giving you a chance to get up.

Never in a million years would Mark think he’d share something similar with an evil variant of himself. Despite being the same person and possibly sharing the same likes and interests, Mark refuses to accept that. They’re evil, sadistic, and unhinged, while he’s the polar opposite. Yet, he and Mohawk like the same thing: your ass.

Whenever he’d come to visit you after a grueling mission, you’d always wear those tight shorts or pants. It's like you were enticing him to pounce—that was your intention. The thin pieces of fabric left nothing to the imagination, showing off your large, firm assets. Sometimes he catches you struggling to put pants on. He just wants to yank them down and worship your voluptuous buns. He could feel himself salivating…

bam

Mark felt a strong punch to the head, forcing him out of his thoughts. The pain surged through his body as the top of his head throbbed with pain. The culprit was Sinister. Mark could tell it was him due to his paler complexion.

“What was that for?” Mark grunts.

“'Cause I wanted to,” Sinister added, “and you don’t want to miss the main event.” The variant taunted as he grabbed Mark’s head and forcibly turned him to face the next phase.

Mohawk was on the bed, near the edge, and lying down, with you straddling him. Your back arched, your torso melting into the variant's muscular body, your dick pressed against his abdomen, and your head nuzzled into his collarbone. The variant was thrusting his hips into the air, wedging his thick cock between your cheeks—missing your entrance.

Mark could hear your soft cries. He knows your hole was aching to be filled, and Mohawk was teasing you with fake promises of being penetrated. Exhilaration was pumping, mainly towards his dick as another variant, the one with a serious and cold tone, took position behind you. He wasn’t doing much but stroking as he looked hypnotized by the globes in front of him.

The last variant, which was nearly identical to him, stood near the bed. He was pumping his dick slowly. His hand reached and lifted your chin, thumb cleaning the cum off your face before feeding it to you, which you happily accepted. He then pressed soft kisses.

“Still can’t believe we’re the same person. You’re just so… pathetic.” Sinister coldly said, letting out a low, bitter scoff.

“We’re still the person, ya know?” Mark replied.

“Unfortunately, but we’re superior—better than you. Just look at him, pure bliss in his eyes. That is, unless you can prove otherwise.” That was the last thing Sinister said before rejoining the others.

Mark was silent. Now, he was itching to prove himself wrong if that’s even the right way to put it.

“P-please… I need it.” You cried, biting your lip and pushing your ass on Mohawk’s dick. Your hole was needy. It was clenching around nothing as it was prepared to latch and pull the variant’s dick into its tight, warm depths.

“This is hot as fuck—hearing you beg.” Mohawk snickered, slapping your ass and teasing your asshole with his tip, pressing it against your entrance before pulling away, leaving you high and dry.

“Can we get on with it? Either start, or I’m gonna do it.” Sinister interjected with annoyance laced in his tone.

“Like hell you would, but fine. Hold on, babe.” Mohawk murmurs the last part into your ear. He lifted you and lined his tip with your hole. You choked on your spit as the pressure against your hole intensified. Mohawk grits his teeth as his sensitive tip is on the verge of piercing your ass.

Your heart beats rapidly, and your muscles tense as the tip penetrates your hole. Slowly but surely, Mohawk’s thick cock pushed into your ass. The searing pain coursed through your body as the stretch was intense. Moans and groans mixed into a symphony. The variant let out bellowed groans as your tight inner walls choked his cock with a vice grip.

“Ngh… f-fuck, you’re so tight.” Mohawk groans, but it doesn’t stop him from pushing the last inches until he's balls-deep. Your body shivered, your hands latching and digging into the variant’s skin.

“Need that mouth again,” Maskless mutters, picking your chin and sliding his cock back into your throat. He chokes, the familiar warmth and wetness swallowing his shaft as he thrusts.

While Maskless uses your throat again, Mohawk pauses on his thrusts, allowing you to adjust. The painful stretch was melting away, and pleasure began to blossom. You signaled to the variant by tapping him on the shoulder.

Mohawk growls, pulling his dick out before ramming back into your ass. Your whines and groans were muffled. Your eyes rolled back as his thick cock was scraping and hitting your pleasure points. The variant’s heavy balls slapped against your cheeks with each harsh thrust he delivers.

Viltrum watched in pure amazement as your tight ass opened wide and took the other guy’s dick. His cock throbbed as it couldn’t wait to be inside your depths—after you made them agree to double penetration. He spreads and lathers his cock with precum, extra lubricant. After waiting for the right time, he positions himself behind you, grabbing your hips and lining his cockhead.

Mohawk stills and waits.

Viltrum groans as he pushes into your occupied ass, his dick sliding against Mohawk’s dick. It was ridiculously crowded, but the tightness and warmth made up for it. You were on cloud nine, entering a blissful state as you were overstimulated; your cock was twitching and leaking like a faucet as your third orgasm was on the horizon.

Your hole was now stretched to its limits, two thick cocks speared you open and scraped your inner walls. Your mouth continued to be used by the other two variants. Within a few minutes, the variants steadily moved in unison, developing a rhythm—one pulls out, and the other pushes in.

Their dicks are deliciously rubbing the right places. Both variants jackhammered into your ass, but Mohawk’s dick was the one ramming into your prostate. They weren’t the only ones. Sinister and Maskless used your mouth until it was their turn. Everything was muffled except for the wet squelching, skin slapping against skin, and the feral growls of the hungry variants.

Maskless’s groans were the loudest as he gently gripped your head, sliding his dick down your endless throat. You peered up at him; his clean, groomed appearance was now disheveled. He shared the same look as your Mark whenever you sucked his dick.

“You’ve had enough.” Sinister hissed, yanking you by the hair and pulling your mouth off Maskless. Your eyes shifted to the variant, his shaped canines gleamed with a wicked grin as he started to ram his dick down your throat.

“Hey, don’t be rough with him! Could’ve been more gentle?!” Maskless reprimanded the other, but it only earned him an eye roll.

“He can handle it. Just look at him.” Sinister replied, looking down at your disheveled, but blissful state. You enjoyed being double penetrated by two thick cocks and having your mouth used by two more. “He likes this.” Sinister reasoned, holding your head in place, forcing you to keep his cock in your mouth.

You stuttered, gagging as your nose touched the variant’s pelvis and pubic region. Your eyes watered from the treatment, but you pushed forward, flicking your tongue against the shaft.

“Holy shit, look at that! There’s a fucking bulge.” Mohawk chimed in, a cruel and amused cackle leaving his lips. He traces your exposed throat, feeling Sinister’s bulging cock through your skin. He could feel it throbbing and moving in there. That and the constant stimulation from your ass clenching around like it was trying to milk dick was pushing him to the brink.

With newfound invigoration, Mohawk picked up the pace, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Your surprised moans and whimpers were choked as it felt like the variant's dick was poking too deep. Your guts were being rearranged.

“Y-you feel so good…” Viltrum growled, panting as he followed Mohawk’s pace. Both of their cocks were fucking your stomach. Your nerves and senses were ablaze, and everything was becoming fuzzy. You could feel Viltrum pressing against your back, kneading your marked shoulder blades, and kissing your nape.

“Best fucking ass in the universe.” Mohawk moans, his head falling off the edge. His thrusts were getting sloppy as his cock throbbed. The variant’s balls tightened, preparing to blow a massive load deep inside your ass.

“And throat,” Sinister added, slowly pulling his cock out. Thick strings of saliva connected the points of interest like a spider’s carefully woven web. You took big gulps of air. Your lungs were burning before being cooled by much-needed oxygen.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Maskless said, pumping his dick with two hands.

In any regular situation, you’ve tapped out long ago, but that wasn’t happening. Your limits were being tested and pushed to the breaking point. Everything was overstimulating your senses and nerves. No guy other than Mark was able to make you have three consecutive orgasms, but these guys were Mark times four—since they’re the same person. Your cock was gliding against Mohawk’s abdomen, smearing precum.

You peered to the side to see Mark stroking his cock, humping his fist as he watched the scene before him. Like the others, he had a disheveled appearance, his muscular, toned body was coated and glistening with sweat and traces of cum—he was also rubbing and pinching his nipples with his free hand.

Then your eyes met, and you could see something in his; it was calculating and observant. You predicted he was planning something, but you couldn’t think as the loud bellows, moans, and groans filled your ears.

“G-gonna cum… breed this tight ass… make it mine.” Mohawk moans, snarling as his fingers dug into your hips. His thrusts fastened but stuttered as a torrent of thick seed gushed from the slit, flooding and painting your fleshy walls.

“Me too… make you my mate…” Viltrum mumbled and cried, biting harshly on your neck as another wave of hot, thick cum filled your ass, thick globs upon globs…

“Keep your pretty face like that… open your mouth.” Sinister growls as he furiously jerks his cock. You obeyed and opened your mouth, awaiting the variant’s delicious seed. He slaps his cockhead against your tongue, groaning as he unleashes his second orgasm. His thick load coated your taste buds, flooded your tongue as he pumped gallons.

“Swallow, sweetheart…” Sinister said with an exacerbated breath, watching as you swallowed yet another load of cum.

Maskless was the only one who didn’t cum as he wanted to save it for when he’s inside you. His cock was throbbing and flushed a deep shade of pink due to him squeezing the tip to prevent his orgasm.

Mohawk and Viltrum pulled out slowly, their cocks dragging along your fucked inner walls before pulling out completely with a wet, audible pop. A wave of cum gushes out of your gaping hole, sliding down your thighs. You cried from the empty feeling, missing the fullness of their cocks.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Save that for me when I take his place.” Sinister said.

After that, everything was a blur, but you had faint memories of intense orgasms, fucking, and marking as the four variants ravaged your body, wanting to claim you as their own. They dump load after load of hot, thick semen, filling you to the brim like a water balloon being filled with water. The variants took individual turns after the double penetration.

Maskless was slightly gentler than the rest, pushing you flat on the bed and getting in between your thighs. He teasingly rubbed his cockhead around the rim before sliding in without resistance. Broken groans escaped his mouth as the sloppy and warm feeling swallowed his dick. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. During his time, he pressed soft kisses along your neck and cheeks—wanting to give you all the pent-up love and affection, something he couldn’t give you in his dimension.

Mohawk enjoyed cowboy style. He let you have the reins and watched as you desperately rode his dick, fucking yourself dumb on his dick. You were cock drunk to the point when he stopped you, you complained and whined, attempting to move, but he held you in place—his dick buried deep in your ass. He grinned and cooed softly as you begged him to move, your hands punching his chest. He granted your wish, migrating his hands to your ass and hips, still marveling at your thickness. The coupling between you and him filled the void that had plagued him for almost a year, and he finally understood his true feelings.

Sinister loved doggy style. He reveled in the dominance and deep penetration the position gave. Seeing you on all fours with your ass perched up for him to enjoy made him more feral than he already was. Unlike Mohawk, he took full control. One hand pressing your head into the mattress as his dick dug deep into your ass, long and deep thrusts. Hevlett out animalistic grunts, fingers digging into your hips or gripping your hair with a fierce hold. He would sometimes lean forward and start biting or tearing at your skin, wanting to solidify his possession. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake; he was going to take his time with you.

Lastly, Viltrum had you in a mating press position. Your knees pressed against your chest with your calves perched on the variant's shoulders. You had a clear view of Viltrum, his face contorting with pleasure and gritting his teeth as he gave powerful thrusts. You were in a haze, but you could make out his mumbling words: “You’d look beautiful with my child… only the best for my mate.” Viltrum knew you couldn’t get pregnant, but that didn’t stop him from putting you in a mating press. This was the optimal position for consummation. He was going to find a way to have a family with you; that’s his only wish.

The ordeal was a symphony of grunts and groans, the signature wet skin slapping against skin, and the cries for more. Yours and the other’s minds were clouded with sex and desire, reduced to primal instincts of raw breeding and sex. Each of the variants had its way of claiming you until your body was littered with bite marks, a testament to their possessive desire that overshadows Mark.

Your body ached, but in a good way. The attacks upended the weekend plans you had with Mark, and four variants were trying to take you back with them to their dimensions before fucking you in front of your actual boyfriend. They wanted to prove they were better than Mark—they were better than him.

You lie on the bed, rubbing into the dirtied sheets and blankets. You groaned from the aching joint pains and bites. You thought about everything that had happened in the last couple of hours. Having sex with evil versions of your boyfriend while he watched wasn’t on your bucket list, but you enjoyed it. That shouldn’t be a surprise since they’re nearly identical to the original.

The other variants stood at the bedside, examining your displayed body. They were prideful, proud of themselves as they looked at you and their handiwork. They muttered among themselves, surprisingly without conflict, until the main focus, Mark, made his move.

You didn’t realize what was going on until Mark came into your peripheral view.

“Mark..?” You mumbled, rising to a full body stance as Mark crawled onto the bed. He rested against the headboard, his thick, toned legs spread open with his throbbing dick standing proud and strong—it looked raw and swollen, probably due to jerking off for however long the marathon was on.

“Come here.” Mark grunts, patting his lap while stroking his dick as he makes eye contact with you. There was a glint in his eyes, something you haven’t seen before in him, but it made you excited. Your hole tightened, eager with anticipation as you crawled towards the man.

Once you were in arm's reach, Mark pulled you onto his lap. You straddled his legs, and your hands rested on his sweaty pectorals for support. Mark didn’t say anything, only holding onto your hips—doing what his variants were doing not that long ago. He could feel cum leaking out of your gaping hole, coating his happy trail and pubic region.

“Are you—ahh!” You choked, the air being punched out of your lungs as your ass was split open again. Your head tilted back from shock, and your eyes rolled back when Mark began to jackhammer. You could hear his heavy balls slapping against your ass, fapping mixed with wet squelching as the variant’s loads leaked with each aggressive thrust.

Mark growls like a possessed man, wrapping his arms around your waist and bouncing you on his dick and panting heavily as he fucked your sloppy hole. He could feel his variant’s cum sloshing and coating his dick with each thrust and feel the fluids leak, but he ignored and focused solely on you.

His eyes settled on your exposed neck, and a scowl crossed his face. Your neck was littered with marks and puncture wounds, with some caked dried blood—courtesy of Sinister. Without hesitation, he darted for your neck, feverishly and purposefully covering the variant’s claim. Biting and sloppily licking, his tongue lapped before he sank his teeth into your skin.

This was a welcome change. Mark had never been like this, opting for more vanilla and gentler sex, but now he was a man consumed by primal desires. He wasn’t holding back anymore. You could feel his dick ramming directly into your prostate, your dick flopping as he bounced on his shaft. You gasped as you felt his teeth sink into your skin, drawing some blood, which in turn caused you to clench around him.

Mark let out a guttural groan, encouraging him to thrust, but he wasn’t going to last long. His dick was sensitive from jerking off and cumming massive loads—surprising how he managed to control his impending orgasm. His thrusts become slow, but long and deep.

When one final thrust, Mark slammed you onto his shaft, holding you there with his fingers digging into your hips as his dick spurted another generous amount of thick, Viltrumite seed—joining the other variants. Both of you let out moans and groans. Having been drained, your dick only spurted a watery load onto Mark’s hardened, muscular chest.

You collapsed against Mark’s chest, your breathing broken and stuttering as you were officially spent. There was a wet plop as Mark pulled out, his cum oozed out of your hole. The room was silent except for the labor breathing.

“Guess he isn’t a pussy and has balls,” Mohawk commented, wiping his dick clean with a towel. “Was kinda hot watching though.”

“What?” Sinister said, a bewildered expression on his face as Viltrum and Maskless turned to him—even that perked Mark’s attention.

“Pervert, but I expected that from you.” Maskless murmurs. He was looking through your closet, sniffing your clothes, inhaling your delightful scent, before Mohawk said that.

“I call bullshit, I can’t be the only one!”

“You’re alone on this one,” Sinister replied. Mohawk rolls his eyes.

Vilrum stayed silent, but he did get turned on from watching you. Your moans were music to his ears, something he could listen to for hours.

You were completely out of it, resting against Mark’s warm chest as he soothed your aching muscles. You could say you deserve a pat on the back for single-handedly reducing the destruction of the world by fucking the remaining variants.

Mark didn’t say anything. He was soothing you while his gaze focused on the others, watching their moves. Sinister grins at him, bearing his teeth, while Mohawk gives him the middle finger. Maskless was busy burying himself in your closet, and Viltrum stood and looked around your room.

“So, this is where you've all been?” A voice sliced through the quaint room. This new voice grabbed your attention. The newcomer had a cold and disciplined voice, weirdly calm as well.

“Aww, come on, you already defiled him? I wanted to be the one! It's been so long.” Another voice spoke. This one sounded bratty and aggressive, the opposite of the other one.

You slowly reeled your head to the entrance of your room. Your jaw dropped; there were four more variants.

One had a suit similar to Omni-Man’s—he even has that father-like tone. He stood tall with a serious but flat expression. His arms crossed as he examined the scene before him. Standing next to him was another variant with stripes and the Viltrum insignia embedded on his shoulders. He had a sadistic smile as he looked over your naked body, licking his lips.

“It's really you…” A deep and raspy voice said. This variant was more noticeably different than the others. He looked bulkier and more muscular than the others, but he sported deep, jagged scars. His skin looked scorched and veiny, and his eyes were covered by black visors that looked as if they were fused to his sockets. His attire looks like a prisoner's clothing.

The last one was silent, but you could feel his gaze. He wore a black-and-blue suit with a mask covering his face. He seemed like a phantom. He’s just standing there, menacingly; watching and waiting. You could only think of one thing:

“Oh god. There’s four more.”

The End

Author’s note: Hello, my strawberries! This is the longest fic I’ve ever written by a long shot—two months in the making. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to this level. There is more content with Mark coming in the future! That’s something I’m excited for.

Art works belongs to this user on twitter!

Special thanks to my proofreader: @sagethegaywitch

“You won’t believe what just happened, oh man!” Mark exclaimed with glee; an unfamiliar look of pride swam within his irises. It was the night he received his powers; a deep crater buried itself into your driveway from his failed landing. “What?” you questioned, prying your front door open as he entered. There were scuff marks littered across his naked upper body, battered and bruised from his knightly adventure. “It was incredible. I—I flew,” he explained, his hand gesturing excitedly. This was a dream of his; he would craft makeshift suits and detail desired escapades to save the world. However, for it to come true was another story.

“No way! This… this is a funny joke,” you sputtered. One doesn’t usually acquire powers at random, but in this dimension, who knows? “No, really. I took a huge leap off my roof, not really expecting anything,” he interrupted to soften the already ridiculous landing of his story. “You know, and I just took off.” The topic was so exhilarating; the thought of questioning him hadn’t dawned upon you. He leaned against the back of your couch, crossing his arms as you two reminisced.

“Wait—why were you jumping from the roof anyway? What if nothing happened and you fell?” you questioned with a raised brow. “I know, I know, it’s stupid. But I was curious and decided to give it a try,” he rationalized quietly, fingers nervously scratching his nape. “Aw… I want powers now,” you feigned sadness as you sulked. It was your attempt at being amusing, but truthfully, you felt left behind. Was it envy? Was it the need to feel important? Was it the fear of him leaving you behind to begin his journey as a hero? You didn’t know at the time. His expression became tinged slightly with guilt. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get powers soon,” he reassured you, but it was too humorous to be sincere.

“Yeah… soon. Real funny, wasn’t it?” you said to yourself as your body perched against a rooftop. It was the second day of the Mark variants ravaging Earth like their playground. The once-majestic towers now stand as skeletal frames, their glass windows shattered. Debris litters the streets, a tragic mix of shattered concrete and twisted metal, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of smoke and ash. Heroes formed makeshift shelters and sifted through rubble for survivors.

The Mark you once knew was head over heels for Atom Eve. It was no secret; he was a lost puppy whose ears would perk at the sound of his name on her tongue. Utterly devoted. Sickeningly in love. You were the very last to discern his truth. The two were written in stone, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth that you had long since gotten over. Until now. You were late to the news of the world's destruction. A strangely familiar face appeared on the news, a version of Mark that made your chest tighten. Within your family, a strange ability was acquired—a power bred through evolution to ensure survival in a world full of the unknown. Once in a lifetime, through a series of visions, you would discover a pivotal moment in time to peer through. That moment was now. Eighteen variants were loose internationally, each with their own tragic story and love interests. Six had dated or lost their Atom Eve, five had slain their worlds' Amber, and six had been devoted to you.

Helping where you could, you began assisting in fighting off the weaklings who figured now was the best time to attack Earth. Micro tears riddled your uniform as you tore through them mercilessly, all through a look of pity. There were days you'd resent this “job” you'd granted yourself, the little recognition and appreciation you'd receive from the public. How selfish of them—and you. You wanted an excuse to have this world fair alone without a need to rebel when no one would notice. As luck would have it, a voice suddenly dawned behind you, his body floating midair and adorned with the appearance of your dearest friend.

Mohawk Mark

“Oh, shit… I know you,” he rasped, his expression twisted into a cocky grin. His stature and pose were that of confidence—and a man who caused insurmountable damage to those he met. “You look just like her,” he continued, his feet finding purchase on the ground as his stride increased. “Sorry, you've got the wrong one—try finding her—” Just as you spoke, static buzzed in your skull—a low crackling hum that drowned out the edges of the memory before it fully formed. It was there—just beyond reach—shrouded in white noise.

The harder you focused, the more the static swelled, but for a moment, the interference cleared. A voice—the ghost of a feeling—and just as quickly, it was swallowed again. You understood the gist; he was indeed one you would find yourself tangled with. “Looks like you’ve been through some tough shit—mind if I join you?” Without waiting for a response, he lunged forward, grappling you in a powerful embrace. His intent wasn't one of danger but instead of safekeeping despite his demeanor. Reflexes took over as you slammed against his cranium with the strength you could muster, effectively knocking him back.

"Fuck, you're a feisty one," Mohawk Mark growled, his breath hot against your ear. "I like that shit. Let's see how you handle this." His chuckle was condescending—yet a thrill shot through you. “‘Won't be handling shit,” you quipped before biting into his neck—just rigid enough to draw blood. He groaned, his flight knocking you two back into an alleyway.

Similarly to your Mark, he seemed attracted to strength, his veins pumping with lust rather than adrenaline. Holding a firm grasp of your jaw, his lips collided with yours in a searing and blood-stained kiss. The muscle of his tongue forcefully parted your lips as he sought to taste you against his own. Finding yourself against the wall, your legs wrapped around the width of his waist, your ass snugly hovering over his pelvis.

He pulled away every few seconds to watch your expression succumb to your selfish wants. Sex with the enemy was enticing and you weren’t letting him escape any time soon. “You planned this?” you murmured between the saliva-ridden kisses. “That would be telling. You know enough if you’re agreeing to this.” His voice grew to tease as he licked his lips—mirroring his satisfaction before peppering kisses down your exposed neck.

His version of sex was rough, with small increments of romance—only reserved for the best prize. With muffled groans, his teeth harshly nipped their way lower, his fingers tearing through the fabric of your suit. As he continued down your now-exposed cleavage, his tongue ran along the scantily clad lace of your bra. Staring up at you, he let out a mischievous snicker before his teeth snagged the cup and tore it from your chest—leaving it discarded on the ground.

“Shit… was fucking not enough? Had to ruin my clothes too,” you complained as your hips bucked against his pointedly. This earned a guttural grunt from the flesh of your breasts, as he heaved out a response. “You’ll forget about them anyway,” he dismissed as he continued until your panties were the last to be removed. The cool air dusted your wet cunt—its arousal seeping through your folds like honey. Its chill made you shiver and like bees to nectar, his tongue feasted before his eyes.

Hoisting you up, your thighs rested against his shoulders as he knelt, the angle allowing his tongue to slip inside your already spasming pussy. An unusual pink hue dusted his cheek as he stared up at you in utter bliss. Your fingers dug into his forearms, your puffy folds pressed against his lips as he devoured you. With your head resting against the wall, your hips ground themselves relentlessly against his tongue.

"Mmm, shit, already soaking wet for me," he taunted, pumping his tongue in and out of your tight cunt. His tongue—rough and textured—lashed out to lap at your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His groans sent mild vibrations through you as his fingers reached up to paw at your tits, nipples stiffened in the cold air. You couldn't help but moan as he ate you out with relentless intensity, his tongue plunging deep into your folds. His calloused hands roamed your exposed flesh, pinching and kneading your breasts, twisting your sensitive nipples until they grew numb.

His hands couldn't stop their exploration—they explored what he had lost many years ago. Sparks flew as his tongue circled against your clit, flickering the bundle of nerves with a speed inexperienced before. Every time you neared the precipice of your orgasm, his tongue would flatten as he sucked your clit—ruining the rhythm. You tugged his hair with a frustrated groan, and his eyes rolled into his skull with an amused moan.

Finally pulling away, he stood to his feet. His lips parted to speak when suddenly, “Hurry the fuck up,” you said curtly with exasperated gasps. With lidded eyes, a Cheshire grin settled across his features. “Yes, ma’am.” Prying his suit off, he palmed his dampening erection. For once he fell silent as anticipation ate away at you both. As he freed his cock from the confinement of his boxers, it slapped against his lower abdomen.

It stood with a veiny girth—the tip kissed a rosy red like his many mistresses' lipsticks. With a pleased hiss, he stroked himself briefly—eyes just barely losing focus from the buildup before he plunged himself into you. Your pussy hugged him with a familiarity that felt like home, the painful stretch soon becoming one of bliss. His hips began to quicken, wanting to see your fucked-out expression like never before.

However, his greed overwhelmed him as the stimulation grew difficult to ignore. His usual grunts and growls diluted into groans and profanities. The alleyway echoed with the cacophony of moans that mingled in the air—inharmonious, yet emotion-filled as a flame flickered within your core. “I’ve waited so fucking long for this,” he grunted, a grin etched into his lips. “N-None of them—no ssslut compares to this. Only pussy I need—only woman I want.” A groan interrupted his sentence as your cunt contracted around him—swallowing him at the base.

That’s right—every harem formed and woman fucked was so he could ruin the image of you that plagued his mind in its grief. The vulnerability of it all made your toes curl, even if it wasn't much.

The fingers pawing at your breasts began kneading them like stress balls, until they were red. Truthfully, he missed every inch of you—not that he would admit that, especially since you weren’t exactly his. A high-pitched moan ripped from your throat as he continued to bounce you on his dick. Pre-cum coated your insides as the sounds of arousal grew louder, his balls tightening. With every thrust, he could see the air physically leave you, the scuff marks from brick marking your skin.

He could barely tell where to focus his eyes—on your tits or face? Both were gorgeous but fuck, he should just kidnap you and take you home with him, right? “Fuuuuck, Mark… I’m g-go—” you groaned as your fingernails indented into his skin, a pain and pleasure-filled gasp crawling from his throat. “Fuck, yeah…” he said, his raspy voice cracking with the slightest whine. “Take it… s-shit, take it…!” It was a growl as his eyes fluttered shut to hide his eyes practically rolling around his skull. With a clenched jaw, his dick began to milk itself. The pleasure mounted as your impending orgasm washed your body in a sweat-breaking heat. Just as he came, your cunt spasmed, once he pulled out, something within snapped as an aroused gush squirted from you.

His groin was now coated in your scent, taste, and the result of your rough fucking. The pleasure racked your brain as tears threatened to spill over. Noticing this—and pleased with his efforts—he let out a short chortle, a hand coming up to swipe your folds and have a final taste. His expression turned into a feigned sob as he silently teased—his tip running a line between your folds and ass, resisting the temptation to fill your asshole with his seed. Once you two were settled from your high, he spoke up. “Had fun, babe.” Your eyebrow lifted at the newly coined pet name.

Suddenly, a muffled voice in his ear caught his attention. “Shit…” he muttered with an annoyed grimace at Angstrom ruining his amusement. “Go on,” you beckoned. “Not yours anyway—so no need to stick around.” It was a light jab—one he received with a satisfied smirk before taking flight. “Doesn’t matter—I’ll be back,” he replied curtly before disappearing into the horizon.

You stood there—naked—processing what just happened. "Shit, I need a new suit from my apartment.”

Variant #17 Mark (I wouldn't even keep you as a slave in my Empire!) Or Sinister Mark (personalities are similar in the comics, so imagine what you will.)

"You thought you could hide from me?" he said, peering down at you with a friendly grin for someone so domineering. Staring down at the man’s shadow, his cape billowed in the wind. Unlike the other Marks you’d caught a glimpse of, this one barely had a bruise on him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he finished before he landed softly on the ground. As he approached, you remained still, eyebrows creasing into a frown. “I’m not—” You were abruptly cut off by a low voice as his head tilted to stare into your eyes. “Don’t play stupid. My version of you had the same power—but she resisted our cause.” His voice was tinged with pity as he frowned; he decided to take another route in his approach.

“I’ll tell you what—I’ll leave if you come with me,” he offered with an outstretched palm. You vehemently shook your head in disagreement. “I’m not going—it'll disrupt the timeline.”

“Why does that matter?” he asked.

“What makes you think I won't resist either…?” you retorted, causing his eyebrows to raise slightly in thought. “I’ll change your mind—and give you what you missed out on in my world.” It was such a matter-of-fact opinion—one rooted in a determination to outclass any obstacle that might deter him. Curiosity bested you the moment you turned to face the chaos erupting in the streets as a strong gust of wind obscured the debris. He was behind you. His fingers draped over your waist as he took flight—and to… your apartment? “I’ve been watching you for a while now… I know all about your preferences. Let’s have some fun, shall we?” His lips just barely grazed your ear.

Amongst the hands that roamed your body, a sense of longing lingered in every squeeze and grope. While being one of the strongest—and surely the most vile—his personality could be charming like your dimension’s Mark. Even if feigned for manipulation. He spun you around to face him, that polite smile etched into his face again as his body betrayed innocence. The erection forming within his costume became difficult to ignore—but he found a distraction. A touch, a handhold, and finally—a kiss.

“Let me show you what it's truly like to be satisfied.” His words were reassuring, yet they felt more directed toward his version of you rather than now. His tongue swept into your mouth, tangling itself in a wet heat as he sucked the air from your lungs. The warmth of his fingers spread across your cheek as his tongue attempted to delve impossibly deep. The taste was better than you imagined—not that you expected any less. If anything, finding him in a forgiving mood proved to be favorable.

His fingers shifted from your face to the back of your costume—in his attempt to be gentle, he tore the cloth from your body like tissue paper. In an instant, his costume was discarded in the corner, leaving him in snug boxers that hugged his dick. Before you knew it, you were pinned against the bed—a hand flush against your throat as he shrugged slightly. “Didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said, an amused huff exiting his nose as you exchanged knowing glances.

The remaining hand gently pried the panties from around your hips and down the length of your legs. His eyes fell upon the wet patch that seeped through the thin fabric—as the semblance of a pleased grin stretched across his lips. Focusing his attention once more, his fingers slowly parted your folds, watching as your velvety walls peeked through the slit. Its warm flesh was inviting—something he had yet to try since you retaliated so often against him at home. Just why couldn’t you be this welcoming? So willing to be corrupted? So… morally gray at the least.

Pressing two digits inside your warmth, he watched it conform to the size of his fingers. An obvious shiver ran through him with each moan that vibrated from your throat—as he imagined you hugging him and wrapped around his cock in plea. The sensations set your skin alight with gooseflesh—and each time you attempted to scurry away from his gift, the hold around your neck tightened ever so slightly. He was such a brat.

Your hips ground into his hand, clit colliding with his palm in gentle waves. As his fingers slowly retracted, his cock shyly peeked from the pocket of his boxers. His patience was running thin as he adjusted himself at your entrance—and slowly pushed through. A loud sigh escaped his lips as he bottomed out, his head falling backward as he quietly cursed under his breath. Mirroring his restlessness, your foot hooked around his lower back and pressed him deeper. A drawn-out moan echoed from your throat; he was barely holding on as he gnawed at his lip to contain himself. Reflexively, his hips stuttered before setting a relentless pace—pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that hit all the right spots.

“Already so wet for me… pathetic. Fucking slut.” His words struck a nerve within—as you repulsively tightened around him, earning a whine. Your moans echoed through the room, mingling with the slap of skin against skin and Mark's grunts of pleasure. He hammered into you like a man possessed—his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he drove you toward climax.

The long thrusts stimulated every inch of his dick—the veins kissed with every grip of your cunt. “Did your version of me not do it for you?” you teased before taking a sharp breath at his relentless pace. “Y-You really don’t know when to be quiet,” he gritted. “But n-no… not like this. You're much better. I would take you to be a part of my empire.” He replied, his jaw tightening as his hips drilled into you with renewed conviction at the thought. A second you—not the one he’s attempting to keep as a slave for disobeying—but one he could trust to blindly follow his power. His grin grew wolfish as his other hand overlapped your throat—his gaze shifting between your bouncing tits and pleasured face.

The slight closure of your windpipe didn’t allow for much noise—but no matter, Mark began to sing like you’d never imagine. It was strange—the sound was much louder due to your silence as you clawed at his skin. His voice began to crack as his tightened jaw began to slack. "F—fucking incredible," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "I knew… you'd be worth every s-second of c-...chasing you down," he sputtered as his length began to twitch inside you.

Seeing someone as strong as him unravel before you was a greater sense of accomplishment than becoming a hero itself. With a closed-lip groan, he began overstimulating himself with the effort to get you off. “Haaa… I’m c-close. Ugh…!” you muttered through strangled gasps—as the deprivation of air made you lightheaded and sensitive. Every nerve ending inside your cunt doubled as you went taut beneath him. “C’mon, fucking cum for me,” he heaved.

His thrusts became sloppy as he came inside without warning—doubling over as a consequence. An unfamiliar sensation painted your insides. You both saw stars as silence pierced the room—the slick produced coated his cock in a glaze. Through bated breaths, his fingers finally released their grip around you as you coughed out a response. “I have to admit… you’re hard to deny,” you said, momentarily spent as you lay before him. “Swee—” He was cut off by a voice in his ear.

It was Angstrom demanding his presence over the city. “What a nuisance,” were the final words you caught as he muttered under his breath. Every version of Angstrom was a hindrance to this Mark—nonetheless, he suited up to leave. “I’ll return—and you will join me,” he said confidently, as if there was no argument to be made. You nodded absentmindedly and sighed. Just what had you done?

No Goggles Mark

“Dude…! You’re so cool—what is that? I’ve never seen any powers like that in my world,” he said with an amused expression as he snickered at your agony. You stared up at him, your heartbeat suddenly quickening when meeting his gaze. A look of recognition flickered within his eyes. “Hey, I know you,” he said, his feet touching base on the ground as he approached you with a widening grin. “I’m not sure you know me exactly…” you replied, backing away as your eyes searched for a route to escape—his friendliness had truly taken you aback.

“Who do you work for?” he asked, words flying from his mouth without a care as he approached closer. “You're way stronger than the Guardians of the Globe dudes I fought.” He fought who?! A sense of dread filled you as a new series of questions plagued your mind. If this one could ruin the team to filth—then just how strong was he, and what exactly did he want? “I don't want to fight you, man,” you somewhat pleaded; he frowned with disapproval. “Fight? No, man… but it seems like you’re in trouble, dude.” The topic switched again—his gaze now behind you—as a flurry of aliens attempting their takeover waltzed through a portal. You didn’t have the heart to tell them it was a failed crusade before it began.

Taking a stride forward, a strong arm suddenly wrapped around your waist as you two were propelled to a lone-standing structure where steel beams and concrete floors remained. “Put me down,” you bruised him as you backhanded him into the metal beam. While he had a smile on his face, momentary irritation settled across his features. The painful sting ran to his cock. “Aw, what's the matter?” he asked, standing to his feet as you both came face to face once more.

“It would be hot, but I don't want to fight, dude. I’ve missed you. I promise I’ll be gentle… at first.” The delivery was more seductive—dropping an octave—as he approached you, hands outstretched and finding purchase against your hips. One thing other variants wouldn’t admit—was the supple touch of the right woman could caress their soul.

“I’m not the me you want,” you replied. “You can just be the one I have anyway,” he said. He was indeed serious—and while less terrifying than the other Marks you’d encountered, his strength was menacing nonetheless. “Then let’s see what other talents you’ve got.” Your response made his expression brighten with a new goal in mind. At that, the grin on his face widened as he leaned down and captured your lips in a fierce, dominant kiss.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth, battling yours for dominance as he ground his hips against yours. You two stumbled around the enclosure—footsteps echoing in the empty building. Mark’s hands cupped your ass, squeezing roughly as he whispered crude compliments into your ear. "Nice ass," he growled appreciatively, his fingers caressing the soft flesh. He couldn’t articulate it well—but you were truly beautiful in every universe—and he couldn’t wait to have his share.

Your fingers traveled up his muscled back as body heat pooled across your fingertips. Eagerness unlike any other began to rise as you longed to touch every inch of him. Hero costumes were peeled from one another, and you found his groping becoming progressively obsessive. His hardened cock stood awaiting stimulation as he bit back his urges—sacrificing the time to feel you once more.

Guiding him to the floor, you seated yourself against his lap—your legs hooked over his forearms. He was always too quick to finish battles, and that even applied to sex. Just the tip. That's what you two agreed upon. Sinking onto his cock—its girth filled you deliciously. The wet sound of arousal followed by his restrained groans filled you with delight; it was amusing to see a Viltrumite struggle to contain himself.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… and 6! On every sixth shallow thrust, you would contract your muscles—gripping his dick like a vice as every vein received a kiss from the gods inside your cunt. It had him crazed—wanting more of your warmth than you were willing to give. “F—fuck, babe, you’re killin’ me,” he hissed with an unforeseen weariness shaking his voice. “Can I?” he started. “No.” His expression hardened at your words. “You’re ruining the—” Before he could finish, he inhaled sharply as his head fell back. “Am I…?” you asked with feigned curiosity. It was undulating in a rhythm that drove him wild. He groaned beneath you—his hands digging into his palms as he fought his urges to misbehave.

The sound of your ass slapping against his pelvis filled the air—mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. Anything would be worth trading; he could watch his dick disappear within your cunt nonstop. His impending release redoubled his efforts—pounding into you with a ferocity that sent you hurtling over the edge.

The excitement overwhelmed him as he sheathed half his cock inside—the spreading warmth and moisture making his thighs quiver beneath you. His balls tightened, painfully so—that alone ripped a pornographic moan from him. If he could fuck you as desired, he wouldn’t be nearly as needy. Your combined moans echoed through the infrastructure—and you were certain that with the windows gone, someone could hear—but the thought was out of sight and out of mind. Pre-cum beaded down his length as it was smeared each time he entered your warmth. “M-Mark…” you muttered; he nodded fervently behind you as his jaw locked.

“Y-You ready for it, babe?" he asked with a faltering grin as sweat tickled his brows. Leaning your full body weight against him—you felt your orgasm building quickly. The pleasure reached new heights as you both milked each other dry for the sake of proving a point. Your body instinctively began to lurch forward as your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave. The tip of his cock was bedecked with a foam ring of cum. Mark would’ve begun convulsing had it not been for him carrying you—instead, his body stiffened as he let out a tight-lipped groan. You could’ve sworn you saw his toes curl too—but who knows? His pale skin was flushed a hue of red as his body thrummed with an aftershock.

Once you’d come down from your high, a satisfied grin beamed at you. "Dude, that was incredible," he murmured, a satisfied grin on his face. "We should do this again sometime," he said—as if this was some casual fling, not that you would mind.

Before you could respond, a message in his ear interrupted the conversation. “Ugh… this always happens; I have fun, and then—dude…” he sounded exasperated as he hurriedly redressed—reluctantly wishing you a botched farewell. “I like you. You’re coming with me.”

Feel free to request more lmao

Mark blinks once. Twice. Then his whole face lights up with the most delighted smile.

“It is beautiful,” he declares proudly, as though this is brand-new information he’s sharing with you for the first time. “Look at how it flutters when you get impatient. It’s like it’s waving at me.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose so hard you’re surprised you don’t leave finger-shaped bruises.

“Mark Grayson. If you don’t put your mouth on me in the next thirty seconds I swear I’m going to—wait. No. Scratch that.” You sit up on your elbows, eyes narrowing. “I’m going to start reciting the entire nutritional information panel of that protein bar you love so much. Out loud. In monotone. While you’re trying to enjoy the view.”

His eyes widen in genuine horror.

“You wouldn’t.”

“‘Ingredients: milk protein isolate, collagen peptides, polydextrose, erythritol—’”

He gasps like you’ve physically wounded him.

“Babe, that’s cruel!”

“Then do your job!” you snap, throwing your hands up. Your thighs tremble from how long you’ve been holding them open like an offering to an unusually polite but extremely dense god. “You’ve been staring at it for so long I’m starting to feel self-conscious! Like maybe there’s a tiny piece of lint in there and you’re too much of a gentleman to tell me!”

Mark laughs and finally leans in closer. His breath ghosts over you and you nearly sob from relief.

“There is no lint,” he says solemnly. “Only perfection. And… a very pretty, very needy little clit that keeps twitching every time I breathe on it.” He tilts his head, studying you again like a rare butterfly. “It’s fascinating.”

You make a noise that is halfway between a whine and a battle cry.

“Mark if you say the word ‘fascinating’ one more time while my soul is actively leaving my body I will actually combust and then haunt you forever as a very horny poltergeist.”

He grins, all teeth and big brown eyes, and finally—finally—presses the softest, slowest, most teasing open-mouthed kiss right above your clit. Not on it. Above it. Like he’s greeting your pussy politely before the main event.

You make a strangled sound.

“Did you just… bow to it?”

“I respect beauty when I see it,” he says against your skin, voice low and molten now. “And I intend to worship it properly.”

“Then worship faster, you beautiful idiot!”

He chuckles and finally, mercifully, drags the flat of his tongue up the entire length of you in one long, luxurious stroke.

Your back arches so hard you almost levitate.

“Thank you—” you gasp.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against your soaked folds:

“You’re welcome, angel.”

And then he dives in like a man who’s finally been given permission to eat his favorite meal after staring at the menu for forty agonizing minutes.

Mark doesn’t tease on purpose; he’s simply too enthusiastic, too thorough, too Mark to do anything halfway. So when he finally commits, he commits like he’s charging headfirst into a battlefield made entirely of your pleasure.

His tongue is hot. Not warm. Hot. Like he swallowed a live coal before he started and now he’s sharing the warmth. He flattens it against you again, dragging up so slowly you can feel every single taste bud, every deliberate press, until the tip flicks right over your clit and your hips jerk like someone cut your strings and then immediately yanked them back.

“There,” you gasp, fingers flying to fist in his dark hair. “Right—fuck—there, don’t you dare move.”

He hums in agreement. The vibration rockets straight through you. Then he does move—just enough to seal his lips around your clit and suck. Not hard. Just… insistent. Like he’s trying to pull your soul out through the most polite back door imaginable.

Your thighs clamp around his ears on reflex. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he groans like you’ve just handed him the single greatest gift of his life. Big hands slide up the backs of your legs, thick fingers digging into the soft meat of your thighs to spread you wider, hold you open so he can really look while he works.

You’re panting. You’re actually panting like you’ve sprinted up a mountain. “Mark, Mark, you’re—oh god—you’re staring again, aren’t you?”

He pulls off with an obscene, wet sound just long enough to murmur against your folds,

“I can’t help it. It’s glistening now. All swollen and shiny because of me.” His voice is wrecked, thick with awe and lust and that unshakable sincerity that makes everything ten times hotter. “I did that.”

“Yes you did, you smug bastard,” you laugh breathless. “Now finish what you started before I actually die of sexual frustration.”

He laughs and dives back in with renewed focus.

This time he’s relentless.

Long, firm licks that cover you from entrance to clit. Swirling circles. Quick little flicks that make your toes curl so hard they cramp. Then he dips lower, tongue pushing inside you, fucking you with it in shallow, greedy thrusts while his nose grinds against your clit.

You’re loud. You don’t even try to be quiet. Mark’s neighbors can file a noise complaint for all you care; let them hear how thoroughly your boyfriend is ruining you.

One of his hands leaves your thigh to slide up your stomach, palming your breast, thumb circling your nipple in the same rhythm his tongue is using below. The dual sensation shorts out your brain.

“Ah, Mark, 'm close—so close—d-don’t stop, please.”

He growls against you and sucks your clit back into his mouth while two thick fingers slide inside, curling immediately to press against that spot that makes your vision white out.

You come so hard you forget how to breathe for a second. Your whole body locks up, thighs shaking around his head, back arching off the bed, a broken, keening sound ripping out of your throat. He doesn’t stop. He works you through it with slow, savoring licks, fingers still buried deep, stroking gently now, drawing it out until you’re whimpering and twitching from overstimulation.

When he finally pulls back, his lips and chin are shiny, eyes blazing like twin suns, hair a wild halo from your death grip. He looks so proud of himself you almost want to slap him. Almost.

Instead you drag him up by the hair until his mouth crashes into yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue and you moan into the kiss like you’re starving.

He pulls back just enough to grin against your lips, voice rough and smug in the sweetest way possible.

“Was that… adequate?”

You stare at him for one beat. Two.

Then you shove him onto his back, straddle his hips, and pin his wrists above his head.

“Adequate?” you echo, voice dangerous and still wrecked. “Oh, we’re about to find out how adequate you think I am when I return the favor, you beautiful, oblivious, pussy-obsessed menace.”

His eyes flare wide with delight.

“Ohhh, I'm excited now,” he says, already half-laughing, half-groaning as you start sliding down his body.

You probably won't last that much staring at his dick like him at your pussy.