Welcome to my blog! (scroll to bottom for master list)
I’m Casey!
I write yandere content. Before I would only write for platonic yanderes, and while that will still be my main focus I will now start writing for romantic ones as well.
Request Info
Currently the only fandom I am writing for is My Hero Academia. However, I will eventually branch out into more, I’m just most comfortable writing these characters. I will also write original characters!
Rules:
Don’t spam me, I know I’m slow, but I’m trying to get to them all!
I’m not going to write out specific limits, as yandere itself is a dark genre, but if something makes me uncomfortable I won’t write it. (there will be warnings on everything I write in the future so pay attention to those and read with caution.)
When requesting request the style
One-shot: paragraph format
or
Headcanons: bulleted format
When requesting ocs be as descriptive as you can, this will heed better results. Things to consider can be genre/stereotype (jock, goth, nerd, etc), name ideas, gender, age range, setting, etc.
Master list
keep in mind my old posts (the few there are) were not proofread, and the new ones have a significant uptick in quality!
New (2026 and beyond)
Ashido x Clumsy!Reader
Old (2025)
Present Mic x Scared!Vigilante! Reader
Bestfriend!Kirishima + Bestfriend!Ashido x Thirdwheel!Reader
but i loved and adored and devoured how you wrote mina,could i ask for one of her and reader focused and maybe something about how her acid sets up a perfect meeting for the duo to meet,like you slip on her acid that has a weirdly straight trail throughout leading you to the class 1-A training grounds?? thank you if you do consider or even read </3
i'm a few months late, but i've got you anon! i hope you request again!
Mina Ashido x Clumsy!Reader
warnings: yandere content, internal self-deprecation (reader), mentions of bullying, genderneutral reader, small amounts of dialogue
First Impressions
You've always been a bit of a kultz. Since you could walk, you've constantly dropped things, stabbed your hips and legs on corners, fallen more times than you can count, and that's just to name a few. Your body is always littered in tiny bruises and scrapes. You're not sure when you became aware of when people started considering you a nuisance, but now it's all you're aware of. When you go out with your friends, you constantly lower your voice, double-check where you're going, and try your best to keep up. You just can't seem to go a day without injuring yourself somehow.
It's only ever been minor things. The bruises, the scrapes, they're all small, but their frequencey is what annoys others. You've become solitary, no longer wanting to be see as stupid. You try your best to get over these feelings and branch out again, but it always seems to go wrong.
Like that time you tried to get a part-time job as a barista and the first day you spilt boiling hot coffee on a customer.
Or, the time you tried to go to the movies with some friends and ended up breaking the seat recliner, causing the staff to have to charge you an extra fee so they could fix it.
Or, the most recent time, when you tried to go on a date with the girl you thought really liked you only to find out her and her friends had a bet going to see how long it would take for you to fucked up.
According to them it took you six minutes.
You were seated at a cafe waiting for her, you sat and talked for six minutes, and when you stood you fell. It didn't feel like that big of a fuck up, but that didn't matter. You were a their newest inside joke.
You walked off in tears once she showed you the messages. You knew people in elementary and middle school were cruel, but come on, this was U.A! Sure, you and this girl were business course students, but that doesn't change the fact this was supposed to be a hero academy. This was supposed to be a place where people were kind.
Perhaps it was the tears clouding your vision when you walked, or it was just the cluminess instilled in your very being, but on your walk back to your dorm you tripped. Whatever you fell on was a pale, gray-ish liquid, similar in smell to acid. Despite that it didn't burn your skin. Everytime you tried to stand, you would slip, so, you accepted your fate and slid down the trail until it ended.
Once you arrived at the U.A. training grounds, that's when you realized just what you had slipped in. It wasn't just any acid, it was the residue of Mina Ashido's quirk. You had only met Ashido a few times, the hero course students rarely having time to mingle with others. As you stop sliding, your eyes lock onto her back. She seems to have just finished training, and was hydrating with an expensive sports drink. You did not want to embarrass yourself, not again, so you attempt to stand and run off, only to slip once more. You let out a quiet gasp, starting to tear up again. Before you hit the ground, though, she catches you.
You look up at her, her hand now on the small of your back. The two of you stay like that in silence for a moment, breathing heavily, before she seems to realize she's frozen and helps you stand.
Though you've never actually talked to Ashido in person before, there's something intense in the way she looks at you that scares you. It's not necessarily terrifying, but it's oddly... posessive.
"Ashido I am so—" She cuts you off as you try to apologize.
"Don't sweat it, after all, what are heroes for if not saving civilians?" She winks at you, a smile on her face. She looks you over once more, noticing the slump in your shoulders, the tears in your eyes, the way you seem utterly defeated. "Are you alright?" she asks.
You hesitate.
"It's not that big of a deal. It's silly," you dismiss, used to being ridiculed for your problems.
She gestures dismissively with her hand.
"Nonsense! You can tell me what's got you so upset, love."
The nickname makes your heart skip a beat and your face go red from shock and the sad fact it's the most seen you've felt in a long time. You tear up harder.
"It really is silly, just a date gone wrong..." You explain the situation to her through tearful hiccups and progessively quieter sobs, the mere action of speaking through your problems taking an immmense weight of your shoulders. She wraps you in a tight hug. You flinch slightly at first, the contact unexpected. After a moment, you smile and reciprocate the embrace.
"You did not deserve that at all, not at all." She shakes her head then pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you, her hands resting on your upper arms. "You know that, right?"
You nod, sniffling. "Yeah, people are just jerks. Thanks, Ashido." She smiles and runs her hand up and down your upper arms, a silent comfort. "Good, and call me Mina." She smirks and hugs you again, this time in a celebratory side hug. "Starting today you are my business course bestie, and I'll make sure no one hurts your feelings like that again." She says it not as a promise or a grasp at comfort, but as a statement of fact. The words come so smoothly off her tongue that you believe them without question.
And, just like every other fact, it's true. That girl from your class and her friends? They come up to you the next day and apologize. Your teacher seems more leninent and patient, too. It’s like the world’s perspective of you has done a complete 180.
After a few days of texting, Mina invites you over to her dorm. She spends a long time talking to you, some of it checking in, but most of it's simply talking to you. The two of you stay up late that night, bonding, you don’t even notice you’ve drifted off until the sound of her alarm wakes you up the next morning. Since then, frequent sleepovers become commonplace for the two of you.
Mina Ashido is truly your best friend.
You feel like the luckiest person alive.
She's always keen on keeping track of your appearance, it's not for vanity reasons, she uses it to track your health. She looks for the subtleties— biting your nails because of anxiety? She'll listen to all your problems while painting them. If your hair's become messy because you're too stressed to take care of it, she'd never judge, she'd simply help you brush through it and style it, making you feel like yourself again. She's also the ones to ice your bruises and bandage your scrapes, even if you tell her it's not needed.
Those are the things you notice, the things she lets you see.
What you don't notice is who she is in the shadows. That intensity in her eyes when someone ridicules you, it's more than a look. You don't notice the acid burns on the wrists of the girl who teased you, or how she jumps when you or Class 1-A is mentioned. You don't notice how your teacher, the one with the weak quirk, has been terrified of hero course students. You don't notice how terrified he seems when he mentions if someone is bullying you, to please reach out, especially because it's his job to help you.
In your mind his efforts are too little too late.
All you know is that you have Mina.
She’s your best friend, and you're her's.
And Mina will always protect you.
No matter the cost.
Well, what did you think? Is my first post back from hiatus good or what? If you have any suggestions or if I missed any warnings, let me know! Hope you enjoyed, feel free to like and repost!
you might remember me from either of these two posts around a year ago..
well, if you do! good news… i’m back!!! for real this time. i promise. i’ll be working on my inbox and hopefully finish up soon. new pinned post coming soon!
Hey! I saw some of your stories and I feel like you’re the EXACT type of writer for the idea I have! Of course, I wanted to check to see if you’re still available for requests 😓💖
Do you have any rules? Or any ideas of how long it takes for you to write and things like that? Or even how many characters you’re willing to write per request/which characters you write for?
Thank you so much, and have a good day!🫶🏼💗
No I don’t have any rules besides platonic requests only! Sorry for the late response, life has been super busy and I haven’t had much time to write! Feel free to send in your request!
“Izuku was the one who first who brought up the idea of having children. It took a lot of convincing, as Shoto had many, many worries. The main one was turning out like this father, and oh how right he was to be worried.”
Best Friend!Kirishima + Best Friend!Mina x Third Wheel!Reader (HCs)
Author’s Notes: In this specific story Ejirou and Mina are dating, and the reader (gender neutral) is their “child” and best friend. This is proof read but this is the first draft, I’m not the happiest with it but I’m posting it anyway. A revision will probably come soon. Thanks so much for reading!
It had actually been you that pushed Mina to ask out Ejirou. Despite him wanting to ask her out because it was the “manly” thing to do, you reminded him that declining Mina for his idea of masculinity was the least manly thing to do!
You were able to quickly knock him to his senses, and since then the two have been inseparable.
After they got together, you were worried they would stop hanging out with you as much, but it was quite the opposite. The three of you hung out even more. The pair started to take care of you.
It was more than just that, the two become latched on to you. It wasn’t long before they started to be paternal over you.
If it wasn’t for your meddling, at multiple points, they would have never gotten together.
In their messed up way of thinking, it was like when a baby comes out of a one night stand. A pair who would have never became a couple before, becomes one due to a child entering their life.
If you weren’t a 1-A student, Kirishima would deliver you lunch in a bento box to your dorm building every morning.
If you were their classmate, Kirishima would wake you up first, Mina would help you get ready, and you’d come downstairs to Kirishima having you cooked breakfast and a bento box for lunch.
Mina obsessed over your appearance, not for vanity, but to make sure you were okay. Nails were short because you were biting them— were your okay? Any anxiety? Hair was messy— let her brush it for you while you talk about your troubles.
If you were their classmate, they wouldn’t let you out of their sight. One would always be by your side, reminding you to be gentle with yourself and your quirk.
If you weren’t, it would be even worse. Everyday after classes the two would come to your dorm and demand ask for a fully detailed recount of your day.
God forbid someone mess with you. They’d embarrass you by scolding them RIGHT in front of you, and anyone else watching.
In fact, it’s better to just stay by their side so this doesn’t happen again. If no one can mess with you, then there’s no embarrassing outbursts you have to apologize to your classmates for.
How do you always end up by their side? It seems you can’t escape these two.
hey!! i found you from yanfluffery :) can i request present mic and a vigilante reader who is scared of him for some reason?
Present Mic x Vigilante!Reader
Author’s Notes: Ah! I love yanfluffery, their blog is the whole reason I started mine so this is great to hear! Since the age wasn’t specified, I made reader somewhere between 18-20, I hope you enjoy!
Many people forget that this man is an absolute crash out. No wonder villains are scared of him, he’s terrifying! Especially if people go after his loved ones or students.
The night you “met” was especially terrifying. You, being an up and coming vigilante, were listening to reports coming in from a stolen police radio. Lately there had been an uptick in villains who admired the LOV and were trying to imitate them.
You arrived at the scene, your quirk being great for close combat, which you got yourself into more often than not. Before you could even throw the first bunch, a loud sound invaded your ears.
It didn’t take long before you knew who it was— Present Mic: the Voice Hero. You had thought this man was nothing but whimsy, at least that’s how he displayed himself to the public. But, as you got closer you saw the scowl on his face.
This man was not here to mess around. You quickly fled the scene out of fear you’d be mistaken for a villain. But, it was too late. Present Mic had already memorized your face, because silly you didn’t think a mask was necessary for your “hero” costume.
Present Mic would be on the look out for you, unsure of your intentions.
Once he finds you on the scene of another villain attack, he stays back. This particular villain wasn’t the strongest, so he could afford to watch you for a little while.
That was when he saw it, your acts of bravery and heroism, as you took down the villain yourself. After passerbyers were done fawning over you and your made your exit, Mic was waiting.
He stood at the end of the alley way you were planning to sneak out of. You froze, before deciding to book it.
The chase lasted a while, you being pushed by pure adrenaline, but it didn’t matter, he caught up to you.
“Well, looks like I finally found you!” he said, returning to his cheerful persona. But, you saw it. You saw those eyes. He was locked onto you, like a predator who’s in it solely for the chase. “If you’d give me just a moment of your time,” he said, grabbing onto your forearm, “I’d love to get some information from you, hero name and all that. I’m sure your fans would be interested…”
He licked his lips. You felt him looking down at you, his high hairstyle creating the illusion he was much bigger and taller than you. “I don’t want to talk to you.” You replied, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold.
It was too late, he had decided you were his to learn all the details of. “You know, if it wasn’t for me when we first met, that villain surely would have killed you. I mean, you didn’t even think to hide your face… are you sure you’re fit to be a hero?”
You had always been sure, but as he degraded you, you could only feel yourself shrink. The blonde made you feel small, like your self-worth and dreams were being condensed with every new word uttered from his mouth.
“Why don’t I take you with me? And we can determine if you’re strong enough for you to be back on patrol…”
No matter how much you fought back, he never relented. He’d even resort to using his quirk against you if you were causing too much trouble.
He wasn’t lying, even as you were held captive in his house, he’d try to get you to talk about yourself. This man truly wanted to know everything about you, down to the smallest detail.
“C’mon kiddo, how am I suppose to tell if you’re fit to be a hero if you won’t tell me anything about yourself? Why, I don’t even if you had any pets as a child. That deeply affects a hero’s psyche you know.”
No matter what you revealed about yourself, the information would be twisted into him determining you were too weak to be a hero. Not just that, you were too weak to be on your own at all. You were his to take care of, his little research project.
This also means he’d do anything to see what makes you happy, but also to see what makes you upset. You were right to be scared of him, as his punishments can be cruel. If you ever tried to escape, he’d likely deafen you, at least temporarily, to teach you a lesson.
Truly though, he does love you. But, knowing everything about you often corrupts any affection he shows you. Still, don’t tell him too much, because then he’ll go deeper down the rabbit hole of your dependency on him.
After a couple months, you’re not allowed to do anything by yourself. He deems you too weak and and clumsy to truly take care of yourself. He truly is sickeningly sweet at times. All under the guise of taking care of you, but at any moment, the man could snap. You’ve seen him break enough times to know it’s something you wish to avoid.
“Now say ah, darling. No, no you can’t pick up the fork. You could cut yourself on the prongs! Now say ah.”
Now nothing’s the same | Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader
Summary: You know it isn't your Mark the moment he steps into your room. The blood on his suit isn't his. The way he looks at you isn't right. The things he whispers aren't things your Mark would ever say. Yet, you let him stay. And more.
Pairing: Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader
Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, frottage, overstimulation, rimming (R receiving), belly bulging, unprotected sex, spit as lube.
Tags: any Mark variant, Reader is lowkey not okay, and he’s a virgin (so prob unrealistic sex?), Unrequited love (for original Mark), Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.
w.c: 12.2k | a/n: English isn’t my first language. This is the first time I write smut so it probably sucks, but hey, I wrote 12k? How did that happen? Yikes… Feedback is appreciated—as longs as is respectful. Also, I wrote this with no particular Mark in mind, so feel free to imagine your favorite variant! The only exception is Mohawk Mark, since his unique hairstyle would immediately reveal he's not the mainstream version at the very beginning (unless you prefer to imagine the reader being dense and oblivious to that glaring detail...).I guess it doesn’t really matter. IMAGINE ANY MARK! And enjoy!!!
You're here | Part 2
Ever since the news broke about cities around the world being destroyed by multiple versions of Invincible, you’ve been hiding. It’s the only logical thing to do—for someone powerless like you, there’s nothing else to do. You can only wait for the nightmare to end, for the heroes to rise victorious. For Mark to rise victorious.
So you stay in your home, clutching your phone, waiting for something—anything—to change. A day passes, and Mark still hasn’t answered your messages. He’s busy, you tell yourself, burying your face in your pillow to stifle the ache in your chest. Of course he’s busy. How could he not be? His hands are full with the weight of the world on his shoulders—fighting, saving, surviving. The news keeps reporting on the Invincibles’ rampage, updating the world daily. A stupid text message—of course Mark doesn’t have time to reply.
(You try not to think about how Mark has been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same. How you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. But you didn’t, and now nothing’s the same.)
So you wait, trapped within your four walls, your chest heavy with worry for your friends—your hero friends—who are out there risking their lives. You cling to the news like a lifeline, watching as the Invincibles tear through city after city, leaving thousands dead, all while they smile like it’s a game.
So you wait, and pray. Anxiety coils tight in your chest, pressing against your ribs until it feels like you might burst. But eventually, hunger forces you to move. You drag yourself to the kitchen, hands trembling as you fumble with the bread. You barely register the motion, your mind drifting to every terrible, unlikely scenario where Mark—your Mark—doesn’t make it. The thought alone makes your throat tighten.
It’s not good. You shouldn’t be this negative. But there are so many Invincibles, and if they’re anything like the Mark you know, then even the strongest heroes must be struggling. People will die. People you care about. And you try—God, you try—not to think about who, who, who.
Maybe that’s why you don’t hear him.
Not that there’s any particular sound to warn you. No footsteps, no creak of the floorboards. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of the curtains by the open window.
One second, your eyes are on the bread on the counter, and the next, an unexpected voice brushes against your ear.
“Found you,” he whispers.
Your heart leaps into your throat, and you freeze, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering to the counter. Your breath hitches as you turn your head slowly.
(Vaguely, you think about Mark fussing over you like a mother hen, that familiar crease forming between his brows. “You really shouldn’t leave your window open like that,” he’d chide, voice laced with exasperation. “Anyone could get in.”
But you’d just laugh, brushing off his concern. “It’s a sixth floor, Mark. And you’re the only weirdo who does.”
I’ll always leave my window open for you, you wouldn’t say.
I’ll always be waiting for you to come, you couldn’t say.)
And then, there he is.
“Mark?” you breathe, relief crashing over you in an overwhelming wave. You don’t notice the differences—how his suit is wrong, smeared with fresh blood and viscera that drip onto your clean floor. How his eyes are too wide, too unblinking, something wild lurking behind them. You don’t see any of it. All you see is Mark standing there, safe, alive. “Oh my god, Mark.”
You rush to him without hesitation, arms outstretched, wrapping him up in a desperate embrace. You’ve been so worried, so consumed by the gnawing anxiety of losing him, that just hearing his voice, just seeing him, shatters any rational thought.
For a moment, he stiffens against you. But then, his arms lock around you with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s too tight, too much, an intensity Mark has never held you with before. That should have been your first warning. But as soon as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, you forget about everything that seems wrong. You forget about the blood, the wild look in his eyes, the way his grip feels almost possessive. All you can focus on is the way he inhales deeply, as if he’s been starved of this—of you.
You shudder, heart pounding for reasons you can’t quite explain, and then he sighs, low and satisfied, the sound vibrating against your skin.
(“You smell really good,” Mark would murmur, crowding into your space, his nose nearly brushing your neck as he inhaled deeply. “Like, really good.”
You’d shove at his chest, face flaming despite yourself. “Christ, Grayson, you’re not a dog. Back off.”
He’d laugh—that stupid, sunshine-bright laugh that always made your pulse stutter—and lean against the lockers with infuriating ease. “Just being honest… Hey, you could tell me what perfume you use. Maybe then Amber would actually like me on our next date.”
Your chest would tighten, eyebrows knitting together before you could stop them.
“Can’t help you there, pretty boy,” you’d say, slamming your locker shut harder than necessary. When he raised an eyebrow at you, you’d flash a razor-thin smile. “Turns out it’s natural. One hundred percent me.”)
“It’s you…” Mark whispers, his lips brushing against your neck. You hold your breath, trying to suppress the goosebumps rising on your skin, but it’s futile. His voice is low, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He squeezes you tighter, his arms like steel bands around you. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Mark?” you ask hesitantly, confusion laced in your voice. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
You try to push yourself away, hands pressing against his shoulders to create some space—because you can’t do this. You can’t handle him holding you like this, his voice hoarse and low against your neck, his breath hot enough to make you weak. You’re friends. Only friends. He’s made that much clear, and this—this isn’t fair.
But you barely manage to put a few inches between you before he whines, a sound so raw and desperate it catches you off guard. In an instant, he pulls you back in, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck, his grip unyielding.
“Mark?” you whisper again, voice trembling.
“Not yet,” he replies, his tone pleading. “Let me hold you one more minute.”
And you don’t have the strength to refuse him.
Yet, as the seconds tick by and he keeps clinging to you like a child afraid to let go, you can’t help but notice the things you’ve been ignoring.
Why is Mark here? Why would he suddenly show up at your apartment when he’s supposed to be out there, saving the world? Why would Mark—the same Mark who’s been keeping you in this strange, distant limbo for weeks, who barely speaks to you beyond polite conversation, who’s been looking at you with a mix of discomfort, guilt, and something else you can’t quite place—be holding you so desperately right now?
Then your attention drifts to his clothes. His suit, but not really his suit. The blood—the thick, dark blood that, now that you’re truly paying attention, doesn’t belong to him. And it’s a lot, pooling around your feet, staining your floor, soaking your clothes.
A sickening weight settles in your stomach, curling, twisting, nagging at the back of your mind. Your arms go slightly limp around him, hesitation creeping in where relief had been just moments ago. Your brain, which had felt so light, so grateful just a minute ago at the sight of him safe, suddenly flashes back to the news. The destruction. The Invincibles terrorizing the world.
And you wonder.
Finally, he exhales—a slow, steady breath, like someone bracing themselves. Then, he lets go, his hands lingering on your arms as if he’s reluctant to break contact entirely.
“Y/N…” he whispers, a wide grin stretching across his face. It’s an unusual smile, unnatural, amused when it shouldn’t. “Here’s where you’ve been hiding, huh?”
“Hiding?” you ask, unsure. “Well—I can’t really do anything else, can I?”
Mark smiles spreads. But his eyes—there’s something in them you hadn’t noticed before. Wide, almost frantic, something raw burning behind them. The dark circles under them make him look exhausted. His hair is a mess. And yet, his expression softens as he studies you, gaze tracing over every feature like he’s trying to memorize you. It’s so intense, so intimate, it nearly steals your breath away.
“What—What are you doing here?” you ask, glancing away, flustered. “Is it—is it over? The fight?”
He coos, a gloveless hand reaching for your chin to tilt it back toward him with a grip that’s firm, almost possessive. “Oh, it’s over. There’s nothing to worry about anymore,” he says, voice light, too light, too nonchalant for someone who just came from a battle. Mark doesn’t speak like this after a fight—he’s never so casual, so detached.
(Mark’s hands would dig into his hair, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m just—I keep fucking up.”
“You’re not,” you’d tell him, hand pressing warm circles between his shoulder blades. “You save people, Mark. Every single day—”
“Bullshit!” He’d jerk upright so fast you’d recoil, chair screeching against the floor. “More people die than I save!” He’d pace, fingers twisting in his hair. “Stop—just stop telling me I’m not fucking up! Stop trying to—to make me feel better! You don’t understand how I feel!”
Your chest would tighten, fingers curling into empty air where he’d been. “I know I don’t.”
“Then stop!”
“However—” you’d stand up as well, eyes locking onto his as you caught his face in your hands, palms pressing gently against his cheeks. Mark would freeze, his breath hitching, wide eyes locked onto yours. “However, I know the world would be worse without you in it. Just thinking about the possibility of not having Invincible on our side—it scares me. Because you’re the only one strong enough to protect us. The only one who can stand up to the worst threats.”
Your thumb would brush over his cheekbone, touch impossibly gentle.
“And I’m sorry you have to carry that responsibility, Mark. But you’re not failing. Not to me.”
His expression would crumble, his eyes glistening with unshed tears before he’d pull you close, burying his face in your shoulder. His breath would shake, and you’d feel his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt.
Your cheeks would burn, heart stuttering, but you'd swallow your feelings and offer only the comfort a friend should.
Your cheeks burn as he tugs you closer by the chin, forcing you to look straight at him. Your hand instinctively reaches for his wrist, but you don’t pull away. You should. But you don’t. Yet, you can’t stand the weight of his stare, so intense, so close, it feels like it’s peeling back layers of you, exposing everything you’ve tried to suppress.
“Nothing to worry about?” you force the words out, trying to ignore the heat flooding your face and the fluttering sensation in your stomach. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” he nods, his voice low and steady. Then, without warning, he leans closer again, his face burying into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply like he just couldn’t get enough. “Oh, shit. How I missed this.”
“Mark?” you ask quietly, voice trembling despite your efforts to steady it. His breath is hot and electric against your skin. The warmth blooming in your face spreads down, coiling through your body. “What are you doing? Jesus—this isn’t like you.”
“Oh, really?” he hums, lips ghosting over your pulse. The brush of them—so soft, so deliberate—makes you shudder. “Not even a little?”
“No…” you exhale, shivering when his arms snake around your waist, squeezing hard enough to make you squirm. “No. Mark. What—what are you doing?”
Your hands reach for the counter behind you, gripping the edge tightly, desperate for something to anchor you. But Mark—his scent, his body pressed so tightly against yours, his breath burning against the most sensitive part of your throat—makes it impossible to focus, impossible to think. It’s like everything around you is spinning, and you can’t make sense of any of it.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks, his tone amused and teasing, like this is all some game to him.
And that finally makes you scowl, the heat in your cheeks now burning with a mix of anger and humiliation. You inhale sharply, trying to regain your senses, but an ugly feeling of shame and hurt settles heavily in your chest.
You lift a hand and push him, or at least try to, your strength no match for his. Still, he complies, pulling away with a reluctant sigh, an annoyed expression flickering across his face as he finally tears himself from you.
“This isn’t funny, Mark,” you say, glancing away, unable to bear the intensity of his stare. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” he complains, his fingers digging into your waist as if he’s reluctant to let you go entirely.
“That,” you snap, gripping his wrists and prying his hands off. “You can’t just—just ignore me for weeks and then suddenly show up and treat me this way. It’s—it messes with my head! It’s not fair, Mark!” your breath comes heavy, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to form the words. Your eyes drop to the floor, and you add quietly, “Just stop.”
He’s silent for a moment, and you can feel his gaze burning into you, searching, analyzing. His head tilts slightly, as if he’s trying to piece something together.
“We’re not… together?” he asks after a beat, his voice incredulous, like the idea is absurd.
The question makes you flinch, and a fresh wave of anger surges through you.
(“I’m sorry,” Mark would mutter, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. “I just—don’t see you that way.”
You’d glance away, your lips pressed together in a tight line, trying to hold back the sting of rejection. “I’m sorry too.”
“It’s just—there’s someone else I wanna try it with.”
“I get it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” you sigh, wanting Earth to swallow you whole and disappear forever. But this is Mark, and you couldn’t bear living without Mark. “We’re still friends, right? This doesn’t have to change anything.”
He’d smile at you, his eyes creasing at the edges in the way you adored. “Yeah—Friends!”)
“Of course not!” you snap, voice rising. “You made it very clear you—you love someone else!”
You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between you and his overwhelming presence. Was he mocking you? Playing some cruel joke?
But then again, as you pace around the kitchen, trying to hold yourself together, your eyes flicker to his odd suit, to the blood clinging to him, to the confused, almost baffled look on his face. And you think again—why is Mark here? Why, really?
Is he even Mark—
“But Y/N—” he whines, trailing after you like a lost puppy, his voice pleading, “—I would never, and I mean never look at anyone else but you!”
You frown, shaking your head. “I can’t even believe you’re saying this to me right now,” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady. “Did you hit your head too hard fighting those lunatics?”
You don’t notice the way he tilts his head at your words, don’t catch the way his eyes darken, flashing with something unreadable.
“If you don’t have anything better to do, then just leave,” you huff, bitterness lacing your tone. “I don’t wanna—humiliate myself any more than I already have. You had your fun. So go away.”
You turn on your heel, heart pounding as you stride toward your bedroom where your phone is charging. There’s a gut feeling gnawing at you, a sensation you can’t shake, and you need confirmation. You need reassurance.
Is the Mark standing behind you even your Mark at all?
Your gut twists violently, but you can’t shake it. The second you step into your bedroom, your hand fishes for your phone, fingers trembling as you scroll through your contacts and press the button.
But Mark hasn’t left. He follows right after you, moving with an easy, unhurried stride, and when he realizes what you’re doing, a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.
“O-ho?” he hums, amusement dripping from his voice. “My, my, Y/N, why’re you calling me?”
His hand moves, effortlessly covering yours, fingers warm and firm over your knuckles. The phone rings—once, twice—and Mark leans in, his breath brushing against your ear, voice low, teasing.
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You don’t need anyone else.”
Your breath hitches. The sound of the third ring barely registers before he plucks the phone from your grasp with unnerving ease. You don’t even resist—your fingers tremble as they slip away from the device. Not that it would have done anything, anyway. The fifth ring echoes into silence, then clicks to Mark’s familiar voicemail. Useless.
The air in the room shifts, heavy and overwhelming. You watch, frozen, as he casually places your phone on your desk, just far enough out of reach.
Then, the moment your eyes meet his, you know.
This isn’t the Mark you know and love.
Mark hums, content, utterly unbothered as he slides back into your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He sighs, pleased, like he belongs there, like nothing’s wrong.
Maybe you’re in shock. Maybe it’s fear, or disbelief, or survival instincts.
Because you let him.
Your arms fall open, letting him settle more comfortably against you, his weight pressing into you as he nuzzles closer. His warmth, his scent, the way he holds you tight—it’s all too much. And you—weak-kneed, breath unsteady—let him.
“Are you going to kill me?” you can’t help but ask eventually, voice quiet, barely a whisper.
He makes a confused sound in his throat, the vibration brushing against your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. “Hmm—not yet.”
Not yet. You should be terrified. Every nerve in your body should be screaming for you to run, to fight, to do something other than stand there, frozen, pliant in his grip. You know he’s dangerous. You know he could snap your neck without a second thought.
Yet—a curious thing happens in your brain.
You’re not afraid. You can’t be.
Because when your eyes settle on this Mark—and he looks exactly like the Mark you know, the Mark you have feelings for—something just… doesn’t click the way it should. Fear doesn’t come. Disgust doesn’t rise in your throat. Dread doesn’t tighten its grip around your chest.
Because he looks so much like Mark. And duh—he is Mark. But not yours, and that alone should be enough to make you want to bolt. Yet—as he nuzzles into your neck, his hot breath tingling against your skin, his solid body pressing into yours with a firmness that feels both grounding and overwhelming, and the way he called you ‘sweetheart’—it all makes you want to give in to him.
The feelings you’ve buried—the ones you’ve shoved down since the day Mark rejected you, since the day you forced yourself to be okay with just being friends—are clawing their way back to the surface, stronger, faster, more consuming than ever.
“Oh yeah, you don’t have to worry though,” he says, his lips brushing against your pulse in a way that feels deliberate, calculated. “It’d be such a waste to kill you so fast. I came here for you, after all.”
His lips trail along your neck, slow and purposeful, and despite everything—despite knowing this isn’t right—you sigh, shivering at the unfamiliar, intoxicating affection. He moves upward, lips ghosting over your skin until he reaches your ear, nipping at your earlobe.
“Mark…” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, body melting under his touch.
“Ohh, I know, baby,” he mutters, voice thick with amusement, dripping with smug satisfaction. You can feel the smirk curving against your skin. “I know everything you like. I know every inch of you. Let me show you.”
Your body betrays you.
Your mind knows better—knows that this Mark isn’t yours, that the weight of his body pressing into yours should send alarms blaring through your head. But when his fingers skim your waist, when his breath fans hot against your skin, when he sighs like he belongs here—your body doesn’t fight him.
It welcomes him.
Your hands twitch at your sides, uncertain, but you don’t push him away.
“I can’t believe this universe’s Mark wouldn’t date you,” he muses, fingers wandering, exploring, curling behind your back before cupping your ass and squeezing. A choked sound catches in your throat as heat floods through you, your knees nearly giving out. “I mean—look at you.” His voice dips, teasing, triumphant. “Barely resisting.”
You bite your lip, swallowing a sound you refuse to let escape.
He laughs then—open, mocking, and so, so cocky. “And here I thought I’d have to fight this Mark over you, but—” his grin widens, wicked and pleased. “I don’t think I have any competition, sweetheart.” His lips brush against your jaw, his grip tightening possessively. “You’re all mine.”
He starts to push against you, forcing you to walk backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress. You fall onto the bed, breathless, your heart racing as he looms over you, his eyes dark and hungry.
“Just mine, okay?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with possessiveness. “I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you—not even him. Not even this universe’s pathetic version of me.” He scoffs, his hands gripping the hem of your t-shirt and tugging it off with a harsh, almost desperate motion. “Loving someone else? When I have you? He’s a fool. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Y/N—you have no idea how much I’ve missed you, how much I’ve—”
He groans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark, his eyes raking over your exposed skin like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can satisfy him. You shiver, a deep blush spreading across your face. It’s too much, too fast, and you feel utterly exposed as his gaze devours every inch of you. His expression twists, a mix of desperation and adoration, as if he’s memorizing every detail of your body, committing it to memory so he’ll never forget. His fingers twitch, hovering over your skin but not touching, like he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out just to make you squirm.
It’s too intimate, too intense, and for a fleeting second, you forget that he’s dangerous.
“Stop staring,” you weakly complain, turning your face away.
“Oooh, oh-ho-ho, yeah, baby, you’re just like I remember...” he laughs, his breathing uneven, his voice shaking with a wild, almost manic energy. “Yeah—I’ll never let him have you. Never let anyone else even look at you. You’re just mine—holy shit.”
And then he dives.
His lips crash into yours, claiming rather than kissing, his entire body pressing you down into the mattress, forcing your legs open. It’s desperate, feverish—starving. His tongue pushes past your lips, stealing your breath, and you moan into his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you struggle to keep up with his messy, frantic rhythm. He kisses you with a ferocity that leaves you dizzy. He groans and growls against your lips as his hands roam your body, gripping and groping every inch of exposed skin. His fingers brush against your nipples, teasing and possessive, and you can only take it, breathless and overwhelmed, your mind spinning as he claims you in every way he can.
“Yeah, baby, keep making those sounds for me,” he murmurs against your lips before diving in again, swallowing every breath, every whimper like it fuels him. “So, so good. Fuck, you have no idea—it keeps me going.”
Your breath stutters as his fingers pinch your nipple, hard enough to make your back arch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. His free hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as he grinds his hips down. Your legs part without a second thought, welcoming him, urging him closer until he’s right there, pressing into you, slotting himself between your thighs.
“That’s it, spread wider for me,” he pants, voice dripping with dark approval. “You’re still so good, fuck.”
Your lips burn, swollen and tingling from his kisses, and when you blink up at him through your lashes, you catch the glint in his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, the usual warm brown of his eyes swallowed by something feral. That smirk—all sharp teeth and predatory hunger—should terrify you. Because the Mark you know has never looked like this before. This unhinged and unsteady. It’s a sharp, gut-wrenching reminder—this isn’t your Mark. This isn’t the sweet, awkward Mark who you fell for, the one you trusted. This Mark is wrong, a twisted mirror image, and you should be fighting him, shoving him away, clawing your way out even if it’s futile—
But then he leans down and presses the softest, faintest kiss to the tip of your nose.
And your mind blanks.
Because holy shit—Mark, the man you’ve been pining over for months, years, is kissing you. And it feels so good, so intoxicating, it messes with your head, scrambles your thoughts into something dangerous.
You know it’s wrong. You know this isn’t him. It’s like pouring your feelings into a stranger, a shadow wearing his face. But fuck—this Mark grinds against you, slow and deliberate, and you feel him, the hard press of him against you, thick and aching with want.
You gasp, body tensing, startled by how badly he wants you.
“Ohh, baby,” he whines, voice thick with desperate need, like he’s been starving for this moment for lifetimes. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, marking you as his. “Let me—” His hips roll again, dragging his thick length against your own, and you choke on air. “Let me make you feel good. Let me make you come, please, baby, please.”
Teeth scrape along your jaw before finding that sweet spot beneath your ear—the one you didn’t even know was sensitive—and you arch off the bed with a broken moan when he sucks harshly at the skin. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—he maps every inch of you like he’s memorized you, like he already knows every single weak spot before you even realize them yourself.
“Please? Please?” he keeps begging, voice so raw, so desperate, so utterly pathetic it makes you dizzy.
And you—you’re still too caught off guard to react properly. Because Mark—your Mark—never looked at you like this. Never even wanted you like this. But this Mark? He’s rutting against you like an animal in heat, his massive cock straining against his suit as he whimpers your name, making your head spin.
It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong. Because Mark rejected you. Because you told yourself you’d be fine with just being friends. Because this isn’t even him—just the evil, dangerous version of him.
(Mark would slip into your open arms, his body heavy with exhaustion.
“I just—I’m scared,” he’d admit, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Scared of turning into my father. Scared of hurting people. And after everything with Angstrom…” his voice would trail off, fingers twitching against your back like he’s afraid to hold on too tightly.
You’d run a soothing hand along his spine, grounding him. “What do you mean?” you’d ask, gentle, coaxing him to keep talking.
“He—he talked about me like I was a monster,” Mark would whisper, voice tight. “Like there’s a version of me out there who destroyed everything. A version of me who’d kill everyone I love. A version of me who’d… destroy you.”
A slow, quiet exhale would leave your lips. “But you’re this Mark,” you’d remind him. “You’re my best friend. And you’d never do that.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, slowly, Mark would sags against you, burying himself deeper into your warmth.
“Yeah,” he’d murmur, barely more than a breath. “Never.”)
But when you move—when you grind up into him, your body answering before your mind can stop it—he makes a noise, something between a groan and a sob, and it’s so wrecked, so full of relief it makes your stomach twist.
Your arms loop around his neck, dragging him closer, pressing your bodies so tight together you can feel his heartbeat hammering against your own. And when his teeth sink into your throat, sucking so hard you know it’s going to bruise, a sharp, broken sound escapes your lips.
The room burns around you, filled with the obscene sounds of his desperate whines and your shaky gasps, the slick friction of fabric between your joined bodies.
“Yeah—” you gasp, nails raking down his back as pleasure coils tight in your gut. “Fuck, Mark, just—Do it. Do it.”
He groans, deep and guttural, a sound so full of possession it sends a sharp pulse of heat down your spine. Then his teeth sink into your neck again—hard enough that you know he’s breaking skin. And when his tongue licks the wound, sucking the blood like he owns you—you know he’s got you.
Your mind fractures into white-hot static as every rational thought—the blood crusted on his suit, the madness in his eyes, the thousands he’s slaughtered, the fact this isn’t your Mark—dissolves into primal need. Nothing exists but the electric pleasure coiling tighter in your gut with each desperate grind of his hips.
“Mark,” you sob, voice breaking as your body arches against him of its own volition. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him closer. “Oh god, Mark. Fuck. Mark.”
A guttural snarl vibrates against your throat as he claims your mouth again, his tongue pushing past your lips in a violent mimicry of what his hips are doing against yours. The growing dampness between your thighs should shame you, but all you can focus on is the delicious friction, the way his teeth scrape your bottom lip when you moan too loud.
But it’s still not enough.
Not with these fucking clothes between you, not with the way you’re both rutting against each other like wild animals, frantic and insatiable. It’s maddening. You need more.
Your nails claw at his back, at his suit, needing to feel his skin the way he’s feeling yours.
“Get it off,” you manage to gasp between feverish kisses. “Please, Mark.”
With a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine, he rears back just enough to grip his suit’s collar. The fabric shreds like tissue paper beneath his strength, revealing sweat-slick skin you immediately map with trembling fingers. His pupils blow wider at your touch, chest heaving as he crushes you back into the mattress.
“Oh yeah, Y/N...” he purrs, his voice thick with satisfaction as his fingertips trace the dark marks blooming across your neck like bruises. Proof that you belong to him. “Bet this universe’s Mark never made you feel this way, did he? Never touched you like this?” his grip tightens suddenly, making you gasp. “I’m the first, aren’t I? The only one who’s ever had you like this?”
You whimper, nodding without thinking, legs locking tight around his waist, keeping him close, keeping him there.
His grin stretches, wild and triumphant. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he murmurs, his hand trailing down with agonizing slowness—down your neck, across your heaving chest, brushing over your sensitive nipples, gliding down your stomach... Until, finally, his fingers settle between your legs, pressing against the thick, aching bulge in your sweatpants, squeezing just enough to rip a needy moan from your lips. “Look at you,” he breathes, eyes wild with possessive hunger. “So fucking perfect for me. So ready to be mine. Does your Mark know what a desperate little thing you are? How easily you fall apart under my hands?”
His smile tilts, both awestruck and predatory. Then, he leans in until his lips brush yours, his hand working you through the fabric with rough, perfect strokes that have you trembling.
“So hard just for me,” he murmurs against your mouth. “He could never make you feel like this. Never touch you like I do.” His teeth graze your bottom lip. “He could never compare. I’m better, I’m stronger—”
He peppers kisses along the corner of your mouth, your flushed cheeks, tender and teasing, a sharp contrast to the way his pace quickens—faster, rougher.
“—I could make you feel even better,” he purrs, pressing his lips against your ear, voice so low, so filthy it makes you shudder. “Make you scream my name, so loud and clear, maybe the other Mark could even hear you.”
Your breath stutters, a deep moan slipping from your lips, body twisting under his touch.
“Ohh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he chuckles, breath warm against your neck, teasing, taunting. “You’d love to let him watch. Love to let him see you break for me. Let him realize what he’s lost—what he’ll never have again.”
His voice dips lower, sinking into something darker, something twisted.
“You’d let me fuck you in front of him, wouldn’t you?”
Your body jolts, heat flashing through you in a violent rush, shame curling in your stomach like a vice.
“N-no—!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut, face burning with humiliation. “No, I wouldn’t—”
But your body betrays you. Trembling, surrendering, completely giving in—your hips rut desperately against his hand, your pre-cum soaking through the fabric, staining it.
“Liar,” Mark breathes against your swollen lips before crushing them again in a kiss that’s hot, rough, and bruising. “I can feel how much you want it. How much you need it.”
His thumb presses cruelly against the head of your cock, rubbing slow, torturous circles through the fabric, making you see stars. Your whole body jolts, a strangled gasp tearing from your throat.
“Maybe I should drag him here,” he whispers, grinning against your lips. “Make him watch as I fuck you so good, you forget he’s your Mark Grayson. Make him see how perfectly you take me—how you were always meant to be... ours.”
You shake your head frantically, words lost between your ragged gasps. “No—”
But your back arches, cock throbbing obscenely against his palm. The more he whispers these filthy fantasies, the harder you get, hips stuttering, desperate and eager, seeking more, more, more, as his words sink deep into your brain, filling you with something forbidden, something wrong—something you like.
The pressure builds unbearable. His fingers move with ruthless precision, stroking, squeezing, dragging you to the edge, pulling sounds from you that should be humiliating—but you can’t stop.
Then you think about it. About your Mark. The one who’s still out there, fighting, struggling, exhausted and worn down. You think about what would he think. What would he do if he saw you like this. You imagine your Mark’s confused face watching—the horror in his eyes as he sees you come apart under his doppelgänger’s touch, moaning and whimpering like some cheap slut desperate for any version of him.
“Mark,” you sob as waves of shame and pleasure crash over you. “Mark, Mark—”
Mark exhales a breathy chuckle, eyes dark with fascination. “Oh-ho-ho. That’s it, baby. I’m here. I’m right here.”
And then it hits you.
White-hot pleasure blinds you completely as you spill in your sweatpants like some untouched virgin, his name tumbling from your lips in a broken prayer. Your body arches violently, convulsing as your legs clamp around his waist like a vice. Your hands claw at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, to this moment, to reality itself.
“Jesus…” he exhales, almost in awe, his grip tightening possessively. “My god… so perfect.”
You’re reduced to a trembling, gasping mess—shaky legs, toes curling, vision whiting out as the aftershocks rip through you. Mark watches it all with a smug, hungry smirk, his eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every twitch, every quiver like he’s trying to memorize it, to brand it into his mind.
“Yeah—let it out, Y/N,” he whispers, voice thick with satisfaction. “I did this to you. I made you feel this good.”
(“Does that feel good?” Mark would mutter into your ear, his hands still working awkwardly at the knots in your back.
You’d groan, face mushed into the pillow. ”Yup. Feels good. Really good.”
“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this,” he’d grumble, brows pinching together.
You’d stifle a laugh, eyes fluttering shut. ”You lost the bet, Grayson. Now keep massaging my back. My muscles are still wrecked from all the damn work you put me through covering you at Uni.”
“William never complains.”
“Because William sucks at covering! The only reason you’re not suspended is because I’m just too good at lying—Oh! Yeah! Right there, don’t stop,” you’d sigh, melting into the mattress. ”Oh my god, yes…”
His hands would freeze, fingers pressing hesitantly into your skin. ”…Can you stop making those sounds?”
“What sounds?” you’d murmur, half-dazed.
Mark would be quiet for a beat, then resume with a sigh. “Never mind. How about this? Does that feel good?”
“Mmmh, holy shit—yes!”)
Finally, you sink into the mattress, chest rising and falling in desperate, uneven breaths as your climax wears off. Your head falls back against the pillows, glazed eyes barely tracking Mark’s movements. His fingers leave the bulge in your sweatpants, moving to your waistband, fumbling briefly before tugging your sweatpants and underwear down, inch by inch.
“Just let me take care of you,” he mumbles, dazed. “Always gonna take care of you.”
The cold air bites at your oversensitive cock as he yanks it free, his pupils blown wide as he stares at what’s his. Before you can even process the exposure, Mark flashes you a wicked grin before his lips wrap around your cock, hot and wet and devastating. Your hips jolt, body convulsing at the sensation. His tongue swirls, savoring, exploring, a deep groan rumbling in his throat as he tastes you. The overstimulation is unbearable, electric. A strangled, pathetic cry rips from your throat as your hands fly to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, trying—failing—to push him away.
“Mark!” you jolt, thighs snapping shut around his head, trembling, squeezing, clutching. “Oh my god. Oh my god—oh my god. No—”
A deep, satisfied groan rumbles through him, vibrating against your cock and making you yelp. His hands pin your thrashing hips down, holding you there, making sure you take it.
“Mark—”
“Mine,” he snarls between filthy, wet sucks. “Gonna taste every fucking drop.”
The overstimulation borders on painful as he works you ruthlessly through your sensitivity, your cries growing increasingly broken. And yet, somewhere beneath the overwhelming pleasure, a traitorous part of you preens at being so desperately wanted.
Wanted. By Mark. Not your Mark, not the one who’d gently rejected you, but a Mark all the same. A version from some twisted reality who’d torn through dimensions just to claim you. And it sickens you—the satisfaction curling in your gut, the twisted pleasure of knowing that somewhere, in some reality, Mark has always wanted you. Craved you. And if he’s here, willing to ruin you, to unravel you with nothing but his mouth, then who are you to stop him?
His tongue works you over with filthy precision, hot and wet and perfect in ways you’d never dared fantasize about. You writhe beneath him, sheets twisting in your fists, as your gaze drops to where he’s sucking you off—Mark Grayson, on his knees for you, eyes close in joy. The sight alone punches a broken noise from your throat.
“F-fuck—!” you arch violently, tears spilling as pleasure crests into near-pain. “Fuck, I can’t—Mark, please, I can’t—!”
Finally, he lets you go with a slick, obscene ‘pop.’ He pants, breath heavy, lips red and wet as he leans over you. You’re gasping too, your chest rising and falling in erratic bursts, your body trembling like you’ve run yourself into the ground.
Mark watches you, gaze trailing over your flushed skin, your wrecked, tear-streaked face. And then he grins.
“I love you like this,” he murmurs, voice rough. His thumb swipes at the wetness on your cheek. “Love it when you cry.”
(“I hate when you cry,” Mark would say, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. ”I hate it even more when it’s me who made you cry.”
You’d slap his hand away, face twisting into a scowl. ”Shut up, Grayson. How dare you—how dare you act upset.” Your voice would shake, anger sharpening every word. ”You can’t even say sorry. Can’t even fake an excuse for why you’ve treated me like this, ignoring me for months… And don’t try to deny it—William noticed too!”
He’d wince, eyes darting away. ”I can’t—I can’t say it.”
“That you’re sorry?” you’d scoff, disbelief dripping from the words.
Mark would bite his lip, shaking his head desperately. ”No! Of course not. It’s—the reason.”
“The reason you’ve been pulling away?” you’d snap, swiping the back of your hand across your wet cheek. Then, it would hit you—heart lurching. ”Is it… because I confessed? I thought we were past that. That we’d still be friends no matter what…”
Your voice would crack, gaze dropping to the floor.
Mark would flinch, shoulders slumping in defeat. ”It’s part of the reason.”
“I don’t understand,” you’d murmur, voice breaking. ”You said it didn’t matter. You promised it wouldn’t change anything.”
“I don’t understand either,” he’d admit, hand scrubbing roughly through his hair. ”Just—just give me time. I need to… figure some things out.”
“You won’t even tell me?”
Mark would press his lips into a tight line, guilt flashing across his face as his gaze caught on your tear-streaked cheeks. ”I can’t.”)
A helpless sob rips from your throat as he surges forward, capturing your bruised lips in a desperate, feverish kiss. He moans into your mouth, deep and needy, and you can taste yourself on his tongue—hot, salty, intoxicating. The realization only makes you burn hotter.
Then, a moan rattles in your chest as his free hand trails lower, fingers teasing where you’re most sensitive. Your gasp is sharp when one presses against your entrance.
“W-wait—” you huff, shaky hands pressing against his broad shoulders. “No… I’ve never—never done this…”
Mark freezes, his expression shifting from surprise to something terrifyingly euphoric. “Oohh, Y/N can you get any more perfect for me? My god—not even in my universe were you a virgin.” He chuckles, low and dark. “Were you saving yourself for him? Hoping he’d finally see you the way I do? He’s such a fool—But I will make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so good.”
As he speaks, his hands roam, gripping your thighs with an iron hold before pushing them up—forcing you open, leaving you vulnerable beneath him. Your face flushes with embarrassment and arousal, your hands instinctively gripping the sheets tightly at the sheer obscenity of the position. He flashes a playful grin, his breath warm against your ass, causing you to gasp and breathe unevenly.
“What— What are you doing?” you stammer weakly, squirming uncomfortably, peering down with shame as Mark leans over your hole, a wide smirk across his face. You realize a second too late was he’s up to. “Wait, wait—Oh my god!”
Your back arches, mouth letting go a deep, throaty groan and your eyes rolling back when Mark inserts his tongue, licking and lapping at the inner walls of your hole, sucking and nibling and kissing. Your head throws back against the pillows, skin burning so hot you swear you’ll melt into the sheets. The sensation is overwhelming—Mark’s hot tongue delves between your cheeks with shameless enthusiasm, licking and probing with obscenely wet sounds that make you squirm uncontrollably. You writhe in delicious contradiction, torn between pulling away and pressing deeper into his merciless mouth.
“Mmh, look at you—” Mark pants between greedy licks, his voice thick with arousal. “That’s it. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”
You’re beyond responding, your hips stuttering and your asshole clenching and unclenching with the unfamiliar, yet intoxicating sensation. The pleasure is so intense you bite your lip raw trying to contain the filthy sounds fighting to escape. It’s useless, though, because Mark keeps eating you out and it only takes a few minutes of this sweet torture until you start whimpering and mewling like a little whore.
“F-fuck—!” the curse tears from your throat as your toes curl and back arches off the bed. Your cock stirs back to full hardness, dripping pathetically against your stomach. “Fuck—Mark, my god! Don’t stop, fuck—Oh my god—”
You’ve never been touched like this before—it never even crossed your mind, not even in your wildest fantasies. But damn, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Who would have thought that being pleasured like this could feel so incredibly good? You might just climax right then and there with Mark’s warm, skilled tongue working its magic, and you’d die happily. Your erection is unbelievably hard, leaking pre-cum onto your stomach, but you don’t dare touch yourself because you’re too busy gripping the sheets for stability.
But then Mark pulls away, and you moan and whimper with need, trying to tighten around him in an attempt to draw him back.
Mark smirks and chuckles, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at your own lewdness.
“God, baby, you’re so perfect for me,” Mark rasps, pulling back just enough to loom over you. His lips glisten with your taste, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Look at you—already falling apart just from my mouth. Think you’re ready to take me, sweetheart? Think that pretty little hole can handle my cock?”
You hadn’t noticed before, too lost in the haze of pleasure—but Mark’s hips have been moving restlessly the whole time, fucking the air with desperate, instinctive thrusts as he devoured you. Now, as he looms over you, you can feel him, hot and throbbing, grinding against your thighs through the thin fabric of his suit. And fuck—he’s massive. Even through the material, you can feel the sheer size of him, the way he twitches with every needy thrust. And yeah—his mouth has left you slick, loose, ready to be filled—but shit. Viltrumites have monster cocks, and it scares you.
And yet—and yet, as Mark moves against you, teasing, testing, making sure you feel the sheer girth of him even through fabric, all you can feel is hunger, a desperate need.
So, huskily, with glazed eyes, you whisper, “Yes, Mark. Yes.”
He doesn’t make you beg twice. One hand tears the remaining suit away like tissue paper, his cock springing free—thick, veiny, and already leaking. The flushed tip bobs against your thigh, leaving a sticky trail as your breath catches.
“Fuck, Y/N—” Mark’s voice breaks as he strokes himself, his wild eyes drinking in every tremble of your body. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. How many nights I dreamed of this moment. You—here, with me again.” His breath shudders, his grip tightening. “Had to find you. Had to make you mine again. I missed you. I missed you.”
His feverish rambling sends your pulse into overdrive, and for one fleeting moment, you wonder about that other life—what version of you could make a man this desperate, this feral with need? What was their relationship like? How did it end? How did Mark end up here, in your universe, searching for you? But then Mark’s strong hands are spreading your thighs wide, his body settling heavily between them, and all coherent thought evaporates in a rush of dizzying arousal.
Shit, shit—Mark Grayson, the boy you’ve been in love with since eighth grade, is about to fuck you. And shit—that thought alone makes your cock ache, your hole clench with anticipation, even as your mind screams that this isn’t your Mark. Your real Mark is probably fighting for his life somewhere. Maybe even dying. And here you are, letting his evil counterpart have you—willingly.
That makes you a horrible friend. You’re disgusting. A traitor. You’re giving in to every dirty fantasy you’ve ever had, every longing you’ve buried for years, all because this Mark—the wrong Mark—looks at you with the hunger you’ve always dreamed of seeing in your Mark’s eyes.
It’s sick. It’s twisted. You’ll never be able to look your Mark in the eye again. Guilt twists in your gut, heavy and suffocating.
You should stop.
You should have never let it go this far.
But then—
“Shh, baby, I got you,” this Mark whispers, shattering your spiraling thoughts. His voice is soft, almost reverent, as he lines himself up. “I got you. Gonna make you feel so good.”
You shiver, heat flushing your skin as his cock presses against your entrance, thick and hard and real. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, locking behind him, pulling him in.
Mark groans, deep and satisfied, his fingers pressing into your thighs as he grins down at you.
“Fuck, yes,” he hums appreciatively, running possessive hands along your trembling thighs. “You’re so good, Y/N. So good.”
His fingers dig deep enough to leave bruises as he drinks down every gasp, every shudder of your oversensitive body like a man starved. And just when desperation coils in your gut—when the teasing pressure at your entrance becomes unbearable—Mark sheathes himself inside you in one brutal thrust.
“Fuck—!” your cry shatters the air as your body bows taut, back arching off the bed. The stretch burns, his thickness forcing you open in ways that make your vision whiten at the edges. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
He’s massive, painfully so. You can feel every ridge, every vein as your body struggles to accommodate him. It’s too much—you’re certain he’ll split you in two.
And yet... The fullness is intoxicating. It burns. It aches. But it also satisfies something deep within you, a primal need you hadn’t even realized was there. Tears prickle at your eyes as you clench the sheets, overwhelmed by the sheer reality of Mark Grayson buried inside you.
“Fuck...” Mark’s voice is guttural, dripping with satisfaction as he bottoms out. “God, you’re tight.” His hips grind deeper, wringing a broken whimper from your throat. “Taking me so perfect—fuck, you feel incredible. Like you were waiting just for me.”
And then, slowly, oh so fucking slowly, he begins to pull back out, dragging a wrecked moan from your lips. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, desperate for something solid, something to hold onto as he sets a rhythm, each movement sending heat curling through your veins.
“That’s it,” Mark pants against your neck, his breath scalding as he inhales your scent like an addict. “Just like that… you’re perfect. Nobody else could take me like this.” His teeth graze your pulse point possessively. “Only you. Only mine.”
The next thrust is deeper than the last, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your hips jolt up instinctively, a surprised sound catching in your throat.
“Oh god, Mark,” you whine, nails digging into his back, voice breaking on a breathy moan. “Ah—ngh—fuck—”
The agonizingly slow drag of his cock has your vision swimming, pain and pleasure blurring into one overwhelming sensation. He’s so thick, so long, so heavy inside you. Every time he pushes in, it feels impossibly deeper, stretching you, filling you—until it makes your stomach bulge slightly, a small bump appearing in the flat plane of your abdomen.
Mark groans, eyes going wide, his hand settling at the base of your belly. “God, look at you,” he breathes, awed. His fingers press into the bulge, tracing the outline of himself inside you. “Fuck, I’m buried so deep in you. Right here, Y/N—you feel that? That’s me claiming you. Oh-ho-ho, goddamn, look what I do to you.”
His dark chuckle vibrates against your skin even as awe colors his voice. He punctuates each word with a punishing thrust, fingers digging into the visible outline of himself inside you like he wants to brand the shape of his possession into your flesh. And you can’t look away either—because holy shit, this is the first time you’ve ever felt anything like this, and it’s almost too much. Too intense. Too consuming.
Tears streak down your flushed cheeks as your legs tremble violently. The initial pain has melted into overwhelming pleasure, your body adjusting to his impossible size with desperate, shameful eagerness.
“More,” you rasp between gasps, arching up shamelessly. “Faster. Harder. Please—”
Mark chuckles darkly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna make you feel good. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”
The dark promise in his words should terrify you. Instead, it sends another pulse of white-hot pleasure straight to your aching cock. Then he moves—harder, faster—tearing the air from your lungs, leaving you breathless and reeling. Your body clenches around him, every nerve alight as a broken whimper escapes your lips.
“Mark—Mark—” you mumble his name between gasps, unable to form anything else. “Mark, ah—Mark—mmh—fuck—”
A sharp cry rips from your throat as Mark shifts his angle, hitting a spot inside you that sends a violent shudder through your entire body. Heat surges down your spine, forcing you to arch off the bed, toes curling, every nerve alight with raw, electric pleasure.
“Fuck! There! Mark—ngh—fuck!” you moan, biting down on your lip so hard you taste the faint tang of blood. Mark growls, his movements deep and unrelenting, each thrust pressing you further into the mattress. The bed creaks beneath the force, your skin burning where his grip tightens. “There! Keep going! Fuck, it feels so good—Mark!”
Then—through the haze of heat, through the sinful sounds of skin against skin, of your wrecked moans and his low, animalistic groans—something intrudes. A sharp, buzzing vibration. Your ringtone.
Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, flickering toward your desk—just a few feet away, where Mark tossed your phone. You’re aware the screen glows, the sound ringing in the background, before another brutal thrust wipes all coherent thought away. Let it ring. Nothing matters except the way Mark’s splitting you apart, remaking you as his with every snap of his hips.
The phone rings and rings… then stops. And you don’t even notice when it goes silent, too preoccupied with the drag of Mark’s cock inside you, the way your nails sink into the broad expanse of his back, leaving behind deep, angry marks.
“Perfect,” Mark rasps against your ear, his voice wrecked and reverent, “Taking me so fucking good, Y/N. Made for this. Made for me.”
Your thighs shake violently around him, toes curling as his filthy praise reduces you to nothing but lustful moans and pleading whimpers.
Then—your phone starts ringing again.
This time, Mark notices.
He stills inside you with a low snarl, his body tensing as he straightens slightly, casting an annoyed glance toward the device. But when he reaches for it—his cock still buried deep inside you, making you whimper—his expression darkens with wicked amusement as he reads the caller ID.
“Well, well,” he purrs, looming over you once more, planting one hand beside your head while the other dangles the phone just inches from your flushed, dazed face. “Take a look at this.”
Your stomach drops at the familiar name flashing on screen. It’s Mark—your Mark—calling you.
“Should we answer it, baby?” he muses, tilting his head as his lips curl into a smirk. “Let him hear what you sound like when you’re properly fucked?”
“No—!” you gasp, wrecked and breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach for the phone, desperate to snatch it from his grasp. “Mark—”
But he’s quicker.
“Ah, ah,” he tuts, lifting a single finger in mock reprimand, effortlessly keeping the phone out of reach. His other hand tightens around your hip, keeping you pinned. “You need to get your shit together first, Y/N. Wouldn’t want him to know what you’re doing, now would you?” His eyes gleam with wicked delight. “With that pornographic little voice of yours—so wrecked, so needy for my cock…” He leans in, his breath fanning over your ear. “I bet he’d figure it out immediately.”
A shudder rips through you.
Your vision blurs—tears welling at the edges, cold fear twisting deep in your gut. But worse—worse—is the way your body betrays you. The way you clench around him involuntarily at the thought. At the sheer humiliation of it.
Of your Mark listening on the other end. Unaware. Oblivious. As his variant fucks and ruins you.
“See? I know you,” he murmurs, his voice syrup-thick with satisfaction as he strokes your cheek with unnerving tenderness. His free hand cups your face, his thumb dragging over your lips. “I know exactly what kind of fucked-up little thing you are.”
His grin widens as he watches your lips tremble, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants.
“I’m glad you’re the same here as you were in my universe, Y/N. I adore you like this.” Then, his tone dips lower, velvet wrapped around something dangerous. “Now—try to keep him distracted while I take my time with you, yeah?”
Before you can react, he thrusts—sharp and sudden—just once, but it’s enough to steal the air from your lungs. A strangled gasp escapes you, body reacting on instinct, pulse hammering as he stills once more.
Mark leans in, his breath hot against your parted lips, his amusement dripping with warning. “Otherwise, he’ll keep calling,” he murmurs. “And I don’t want him interrupting us.”
Your stomach twists in knots of anticipation and dread. The phone is still ringing, still just out of reach—Mark’s name flashing on the screen, a second away from being answered. And all the while, this Mark remains inside you—hot, solid, pressing deeper with each second of silence.
“Okay...” you breathe, forcing air into your lungs. “Okay.”
Mark’s smirk turns predatory as he brushes a featherlight kiss to your nose before tapping the answer button, offering you the phone back—and as soon as you grab it and press it to your ear, he immediately resumes his slow, deliberate thrusts that make your toes curl.
“Y/N? Y/N!” The real Mark’s voice—familiar, concerned, kind—crackles through the speaker. He sounds breathless, frantic. “Are you okay? You called and I couldn’t answer but then—but then I called back and you didn’t pick up, and I’m—I’m worried—”
You squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lip, fighting so hard to keep quiet. But the Mark above you doesn’t make it easy, his hips moving with cruel precision, his smirk deepening as he watches you struggle.
“…Y/N?”
“I’m here,” you choke out, voice miraculously steady despite the way your body arches into each thrust. The not-yours-Mark’s eyes glint with dark amusement as he increases his pace. “I’m... okay.”
Your voice wavers. You can’t help it. A shaky sigh escapes when he ducks his head to nip at your throat, his hot breath raising goosebumps across your oversensitive skin.
“Thank God,” your actual Mark exhales, the relief in his voice almost painful to hear. “Listen, Cecil just— he lost track of a variant. Said he was heading your way, Y/N.”
The not-yours-Mark stills inside you, his expression shifting to something dangerously intrigued. “Oh?” he murmurs against your pulse.
“Y-yeah?” you blurt too loudly, praying the real Mark didn’t hear him.
Your fingers dig into the sheets as the not-yours-Mark begins moving again with renewed purpose, each thrust calculated to wring helpless sounds from your throat while you struggle to keep your breathing even.
“Yeah,” your actual Mark replies through the phone, his voice strained. “I’ll—I’ll come your way. Or the GDA will pick you up, but—it’s dangerous to stay in your apartment! Please, just—just leave. Right now.”
You choke back another gasp, barely holding yourself together. No—you can’t let Mark come here. You can’t let the GDA get involved either. The humiliation would be unbearable—agents witnessing you like this, being taken apart by the same monster who probably leveled cities and slaughtered thousands before claiming you in your own bed.
“No!” you blurt out, voice cracking under the weight of too many emotions. “No, nngh, fuck—you can’t!”
You’re losing control. This Mark—the wrong Mark—is hitting your prostate with every brutal thrust, his teeth sinking into that sensitive spot on your neck while his fingers twist your nipples mercilessly. Stars explode behind your eyelids as another lewd groan escapes you. Virgin or not, there’s no way you could stay quiet under this assault. You realize with dawning horror that he doesn’t want you quiet—he wants you loud, to moan, to let your Mark hear you. To let him know.
That yeah—he’s here.
And yeah—he’s fucking you.
For a moment, there’s only silence on the other end of the call.
Then finally, Mark speaks again, slower this time. “This—this isn’t negotiable, Y/N,” he says, though there’s something off—a hesitation, a shift in his tone as your breath stutters audibly. “Are you… okay?”
No. You’re not okay. You’re overwhelmed, wrecked by pleasure more intense than anything you’ve ever known, losing your virginity to a twisted version of the man you love. Hot tears of shame spill down your cheeks as a sob tears from your throat.
“...Y/N?” Mark’s voice sounds distant now. You can barely hear him over the rush of blood in your ears, over the slick sound of skin meeting skin, over the obscene, broken whimpers falling from your lips.
“Mmmh, fuck,” you gasp as the pressure builds unbearably inside you. “Fuck—Mark—”
“That’s it, baby,” not-your-Mark whispers in your ear, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “You wanna come, don’t you? Wanna scream my name?”
The dam breaks. “Yes! Fuck, yes, yes!” Your voice shatters with each punishing thrust. Dignity forgotten, you arch desperately against him, meeting every movement as you beg mindlessly. “Mark—I can’t—oh god, please, please...!”
The line goes silent for an agonizing moment, the static crackle carrying more weight than words ever could. You squeeze your eyes shut, shame and guilt and disgust warring with the pleasure coiling tight in your belly—but it’s too late now. Far too late.
“Y/N...?” his voice comes through the receiver—your Mark’s voice—strangled and low, thick with realization.
Your stomach drops. He knows. Oh god, he knows. He fucking knows.
Not-your-Mark lets out a pleased hum against your neck, his fingers lazily plucking the phone from your trembling hand while his hips snap forward, forcing a needy moan from your lips. The wet sound of skin on skin is unmistakable. There’s no way your Mark could mistake what’s happening.
Not-your-Mark’s eyes glint with something wicked as he presses the phone to his ear, smirking.
“Too late, dickhead,” he says, just as breathless as you, his voice dripping with smug victory as he punctuates each word with another brutal thrust. “He’s already mine.”
Mark’s furious roar bursts through the speaker. “You—!” you close your eyes, mortified, tears falling down your cheeks because this is the moment Mark realizes you’re a horrible friend. “I’LL FUCKING KILL YO—”
But the sound is cut off with a sickening crunch as not-your-Mark’s fingers tighten, phone shattering, fragments falling like dust.
“Oops,” he pouts mockingly, tilting his head with feigned innocence before his expression darkens. His hand snakes around your throat, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough to claim. “Now where were we, sweetheart?”
When he slams back into you, you arch off the bed with a broken scream, your legs spreading wider of their own volition. He chuckles darkly, hands sliding under your thighs to fold you nearly in half, opening you up so completely that each thrust punches the air from your lungs.
“Fuck,” he growls, pace turning erratic as his control fractures. “Look at you—taking me so perfect. Tell me. Tell me how much you love this. How much you love taking my cock.”
“I love it,” you gasp without thought, your mind obliterated by pleasure. “Fuck—I love it. I love you.”
A deep, guttural moan tears from his throat, his grip on you tightening as he nods frantically. “Yeah? Love me? Fuck— I love you too, baby. I love you so fucking much.”
And you know he’s not your Mark. You know your real Mark is probably flying at full speed right now, minutes, or even seconds from bursting through your window. But Christ—hearing those words, in Mark’s voice, from his lips, with his face twisted in raw, desperate worship—it makes you dizzy. It makes you happy.
“I love you,” you say again, fingers twisting into his dark hair, dragging him down until your panting mouths brush. “I love you. Always have—fuck—since—since before you even got your powers, Mark!”
“Yeah?”
“Yes! Ah—fuck, yes!” The words dissolve into moans as you kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips sliding messily against his. “When you were such--a nerd! Loved you since we were kids. Love you now. I always will—”
He groans, swallowing your words with a feverish kiss, his hands squeezing your cheeks until your mouth falls open, surrendering completely. Tongues tangle, breath mingles, and he moans right into you—
“I love—” he pants, his movements growing erratic. “I love you, Y/N. Fuck—Gonna take you home with me. Gonna keep you forever. Steal you from that idiot...make him see what he threw away—”
Then—suddenly—his hand wraps around your cock.
It’s been untouched this entire time, leaking wildly against your stomach, and the moment his fingers curl around it, a sharp, broken whimper escapes you. Your hips jerk helplessly, legs trembling as pleasure rips through you.
“Fuuuuck,” you sob, shuddering against him. “Don’t stop—don’t stop. I’m gonna—”
“I got you, baby,” he growls, stroking you faster, fucking into you harder. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good. Gonna take you away. Gonna own you!”
And God help you—his words don’t sound like threats when you’re drowning in white-hot ecstasy. In this moment, you’d let him drag you through dimensions, would beg him to claim you completely—because he wants you. He loves you. He craves you in a way you’ve always ached to be craved. And right now—you’d let him take you. You’d let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.
“Ah—ah, Mark—” Your body locks up, stomach tightening, hole clenching around him as the pressure on your cock becomes unbearable. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”
“Yeah, baby, let it out,” he growls against your lips, his hand working your cock in perfect sync with his punishing thrusts. “Come for me. Now.”
You shatter with a strangled scream, body jerking violently as you spill across your stomach in thick, hot stripes. Your vision whites out, every muscle locking and spasming as pleasure tears through.
Mark groans like a man possessed, his thrusts faltering as your hole flutters and clenches around him. “Fuck—fuck—” He slams into you one final time, burying himself deep, and then he’s coming too, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. His grip tightens as he grinds himself deeper, prolonging every last spurt, wringing every aftershock from you until you’re trembling and spent beneath him.
You can’t move. Can’t speak. All you can do is lie there, trembling, as he keeps pumping into you, dragging out your orgasm until you’re sobbing from oversensitivity. His hips grind against yours, forcing every last drop into you like he’s determined to make sure you remember this.
When he finally pulls out, you whimper at the loss, your body limp and wrecked. Sweat and come cling to your skin, your chest heaving as aftershocks wrack through you. Every inch of you is marked—bruises blooming where his fingers, his teeth, his lips claimed you.
You barely register the mattress dipping as he lays beside you, his arms wrapping around your exhausted frame. A soft, lingering kiss presses to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur against your damp skin.
“Shh, shh, Y/N,” his fingers trace lazy circles against your back. “Go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”
Even in your dazed, post-orgasmic haze, you understand what “everything” means.
It means your Mark—your universe’s Mark—is on his way. It means a fight is inevitable. It means blood, destruction, the clash of two forces that look the same but could never be. And when that moment comes, you’ll have to face him—face the shame that will devour you whole.
Because how dare you?
How dare you moan his name for someone else? Whisper desperate I love yous to the wrong version of him? Come undone beneath a man who wears his face but isn’t him?
And after you told him it was fine—that you were fine—staying just friends. After you swallowed every aching, desperate feeling just to keep him close. But in the end, you gave in. You let temptation pull you under. You let yourself have him—or the closest thing to him. And now, there’s no taking it back.
You know you’re wrong.
You know time is running out.
And you know that when he says he’ll take care of everything, this Mark intends to kill your Mark—just as your Mark wants to kill him.
But your body betrays you—mind foggy, muscles lax with satisfaction, the afterglow pulling you under. As consciousness fades, this not-quite-Mark draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. His breathing steadies, his solid frame surrounding you in deceptive safety.
(And vaguely, you think about your Mark. About how he’s been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same.
“I promise I’ll tell you,” he’d say, a week ago, his eyes avoiding yours in a way that pains you. “I promise I’ll tell you the truth. All of it. And—”
Then he’d looked up, and something in his gaze pinned you there—fervent, almost feverish.
“I’ll—” he’d stop himself, cheeks coloring faintly, and yet he wouldn’t relent his steady gaze. ”I’ll tell you the reason I’ve been acting like such an asshole to you. And I hope...you can forgive me after.”
“Why not now?” you’d ask, puzzled, fingers curling into your palms. ”Why not when I’m asking you, Mark? Right here, and right now.”
He’d flinch, his eyes closing for a fleeting second before opening them again. ”Just—gimme one more week,” he’d rasped. “One more week and—I promise I’ll tell you everything. I’ll—confess everything.”
And as he’d turn around, his broad back to you as he’d take off—not before glancing at you with troubled eyes, an intensity in his eyes you can’t quite place—you’d only guess he’s gonna say he hates you. That he’s gonna say, now once and for all, he can no longer be your friend.
And how you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. How you should’ve never, ever opened your big mouth and let your feelings spill out.
But you did, and now nothing’s the same.)
“I’ll take care of it,” Mark murmurs again as you drift away, his voice a dark promise. “Never gonna lose you again. Never.”
The last thing you register before sleep claims you is the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek.
And in the final flicker of consciousness, a single thought drifts through your mind— You wished Mark had told you the reason.
Platonic Yan!Older Brother!Dabi with Teen Sibling!Reader
Older places by : Cutiepieyandere :]
How Dabi reacts to Reader having a little crush crush on Katsuki!
☆ He had noticed you’d been acting differently for a while now. You seemed to be distracted in thought more. Spending time watching stuff on your phone, where you would just smile at it. It was strange. That’s why he decided to look through your watch history when you left your phone unattended. Just to see what had all your attention recently.
☆ That’s how he figured it out, clips from that dumb UA sports festival. Specifically of that blonde kid that Tomura had been talking about kidnapping. He wasn’t an idiot, it was obvious you were crushing on the guy. He wasn’t very happy about the idea of you getting a boyfriend. But whatever made you happiest.
☆ Until they actually captured the brat and had him in the base. He was loud, rude, and egotistical, something he didn’t want you to become. Dabi made the decision that this little ‘crush’ you had had to go.
☆ During Katsuki time with the league you were kept away from him. Spending time in your room or with Dabi. He would take you out so you weren’t basically trapped in your room. He didn’t want you to have any time alone with Katsuki in case you two started to hit it off.
☆ If you ever told him about it he would act uninterested but would be secretly annoyed inside. Even hearing the very idea of that blonde boy getting all romantic with you was frustrating. He’d be ok with almost anyone else but you had to choose a delinquent. Even worse a hero student.
☆ If for some reason the two of you did interact he’s supervising it from across the bar. Just glaring at you both. If you’re doing anything that could be considered flirting he’s ending that immediately. Giving you some task like to go clean your room or something, while giving Katsuki a look that tells him to back off his younger sibling.
☆ When the kid got rescued it was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. Now he didn’t have to worry about you two actually getting together. Cause trust he’s making sure you don’t have any future interactions with him. None. He’s just not good enough for you.
Hiya!!!! I got the idea of a Yandere Farmer from this fic so send it some love! I hope you enjoy :D
Trigger warnings! Injuries, Car crash, Description of injury, Delusional Behaviour, Manipulation, Drugging, This is all fictional I don't condone toxic behaviour irl!
🌱 Yandere Farmer was working hard, fixing a fence that finally gave way. The hot summer heat beaming down on his body. His 6'2 frame is hunched over looking for his tools. He thought he was finally done when he hears another fence break and the sounds of hooves moving too fast. Damn. Sheep got out.
🌱 Yandere Farmer ran after them grabbing the sheep and lifting them off the road. He callus covered hands gently taking hold of them with care. He didn't even notice that a rather expensive car had to stop sharply to avoid hitting him or the sheep.
🌱 Yandere Farmer watches you get out of the car. He could hear your friends telling you to get back in. "Do you need any help? I'm really sorry! We didn't hit anything, did we?" He wasn't expecting that. He can see the looks on your friends face and he can tell they're city people but you seem to care.
"Oh...No the girl is all good." He put the sheep down and shoved the fence back into place. It took such little energy to shove a piece of a wooden fence back into the ground. "Where are you headin'? You and your mates don't exactly look local." He crossed his arms. His white tank top showing off his biceps was in contrast to your rather trendy look. He noticed you had a little key chain on your jeans. Cute
🌱 Yandere Farmer listened as you said you and your friends were going to a trendy restaurant in another city. You were influencers, he did not care. The internet wasn't his thing but you talked with so much enthusiasm he found it endearing. "Right well you enjoy that."
You were back in your car. Your friends told you not to talk to creepy men but you didn't think he was creepy and you guys almost ran his sheep over so you thought it was the nice thing to do!
On the way home you and your friends and chatting and laughing. The restaurant wasn't as good as people hyped it up to be but it made content for you and your friends so everyone was happy. You rest you head on your friends shoulder and close your eyes. Your friend was driving along the road, the summer evens lit up the road. The peaceful atmosphere was ruined when a sheep ran into the road. Your friend panic and swerved to hit it, crashing into a tree. One of your friends didn't wear a seatbelt their body slamming into the dashboard. Everyone screamed. The driver's head was bleeding and the person in the passenger seats nose looked broken. You and your friend in the back started panicking. You tried calling for an ambulance but it didn't work due to the lack of signal. You told your friend to look after the injured people while you go searching for help.
🌱 Yandere Farmer sat down on his porch with Lila his beloved Border Collie. CJ was petting her with one hand and had a class of whisky in another. He took a sip letting the comforting feeling of the alcohol burn in the back of his throat. It was truly a rewarding part of the farm life. And till there was sounds of crying and hyperventilating. Lila starts barking obviously upset by the sound.
🌱 Yandere Farmer stands up and follows the noise till he finds you in a panicked state. You're the little influencer from early. "Hey, hey! What's goin' on?" He holds your shoulders, Your form was shaking like a leaf. You tried to explain your situation but you were so out of breath.
🌱 Yandere Farmer eventually got the situation out of you. "Alright..." He rubs your back trying to soothe you. "Come on" he walks you to his truck. "Show me where they are, they'll be okay."
When Yandere Farmer got there he was surprised to see everyone standing outside. The car wasn't in the best condition but salvageable. You were relieved to see them alright. "You! Sort your damn sheep out!" Your friend with the broken nose shoved CJ's chest hard. "This is your fault!" This dissolved into you friends arguing about if he farmer was to blame... Infront of said farmer. You tried telling them to calm down but they weren't listening to you.
🌱 Yandere Farmer noticed it was escalating and tried calming everyone down. Which your friend who wasn't too injured decided to drive the busted car to the nearest town instead of taking the farmers help. You weren't comfortable with someone with whiplash driving. CJ noticed this and placed his hand your shoulder. "I'll drive you into town tomorrow,yeah? Don't got with them if you're not comfortable." To the upset of your friends you agree.
🌱 Yandere Farmer drove you back to his house. Opening the door for an excited Lila to jump up on you. She loves new people. "I have a spare room you can stay in.." he paused realising he never got your name. "(Reader)." You say with a shy smile. "Callum Jones but that's stupid so CJ." He smiles back. He's not used to smiling, he hopes it's not coming across sarcastically. He leads you to your room for the night. It was cute, simple. Wooden wardrobe, bedside table, it had a theme. CJ left you with a spare t-shirt and shorts to sleep in. It definitely would be too big but it's the thought that counts. "Let me know if you need anything."
🌱 Yandere Farmer layed in bed, contemplating if he made the right decision. He saw how your friends looked at him compared to you. You had so much kindness in your eyes ,he knew they'd break you easily. The sheep? He wouldn't of let them hit her. Everything went according to plan, his plan. It's okay! He'll be really nice to you tomorrow and convince you to get better friends! And maybe his..
🌱 Yandere Farmer is used to being alone because he wants to be. He's not good at understanding people or even caring about them. He loves animals they can't lie, or take advantage of him. They're honest with how they feel. From his sheep, chickens to his dog he knows they're honest. He sees that honesty in you.
You woke up with a text from your friends. Saying they're safe and need to leave that 'Hill Billy's' house. You step outside the room. A little nervous incase you weren't supposed to be.
🌱 Yandere Farmer noticed you from outside. Walking over (definitely wasn't thanking his sheep) "Hey Pip, Did you sleep well?" He towards over you. You looked up at him nodding you felt almost ungrateful asking him when you can leave. "Yes, thank you. When do you think you can drive me to a city?" CJ wasn't dumb. He knew that you'd ask so you had already prepared. "Whenever you're ready. When we get there let me treat you to breakfast though, okay?" He chuckled when you tried denying him. "Seriously let me take care of you."
🌱 Yandere Farmer was a little sad when they head off but felt a lot better when you just chatted and chatted Oh! And did I mention you guys talked? Listen you're an influencer, you're professionally a yapper. CJ loves it and he talked back. He learnt you got into content creation because you're friends did it and you're still finding your feet with it.
When you guys finally parted ways you swapped your numbers and left. You texted him daily asking about his animals,how it's going and even his life.
🌱 Yandere Farmer looked at all your social medias. Watched all your videos and what people say about you. People think you're sweet, obviously. But he gets the sense you were calmer in the countryside maybe he's just reading into things (okay nowwww he's self aware)
🌱 Yandere Farmer, CJ if you will is many things. Tuff, hard working but not dumb. Everyone likes to pretend he's a stupid little farm boy but he isn't. His farm isn't some generational thing. He bought it himself, he was involved in stocks and all that and even if he had owned the farm he would of been just as calculated. Father like son he supposed.
🌱 Yandere Farmer would start texting you saying he's lonely and doesn't feel like he can talk to anyone else. He knows it'll get under your skin he's hoping it will he doesn't want to be alone anymore. He wants you.
Obviously course CJ is going to act so shocked when you ask if he could visit. You want to visit little old him? ლ(・﹏・ლ) Well shucks, he supposes he could find some time for you.
🌱 Yandere Farmer is actually buzzing. Running around his little house to make sure it's clean. Lila running around with him. When you got out of your own car you had a few gifts. "Hiya!" You call out. CJ pretended to act casually, wrapping his arms around your lower back. "Hey Hun. Been a while, hasn't it?" He noticed the gifts "what's this?". You give a shy smile before showing a sheep plushie. "I thought you'd like it..." CJ looks at the plushie smiling. He ruffles your hair taking your bags. You run in to show Lila the bone you bought her. It makes him feel bad about what he's about to do.
CJ was a proud fan of yours so he remembered your favourite meal. You mentioned it in your "I tried to cook without a recipe" video that came out two months ago (this boy is dedicated). He started preparing it and told you to go walk around and say hi to his animals after such a long dive. He only recommended time away from him so he could put some medicine in your meal. It wouldn't kill you just make you weak and that's all he needs from you.
You woke up the next day with a banging migraine feeling nauseous. You tried to get up but felt so weak. You felt so guilty, you finally found time to visit CJ and got really sick. Maybe petrol station food wasn't a good idea after all? Lila starts barking outside your door and you can hear CJ trying to tell her to shush so you can sleep. You thought he was so sweet, you tried calling out to him. You surprised he even heard with how crackly your voice is, almost like he was listening.
🌱 Yandere Farmer was so caring! Giving you medication sitting with you after working on the farm or during breaks, even made Lila sit with you at some point. You tried saying you didn't want them getting sick but CJ seemed oddly confident you weren't contagious.
You were supposed to stay for three days. It had been almost a week till you felt well enough to get out of bed but not drive. While you were asleep CJ had put together a swinging basket so you could rest outside on the porch while he works. You were resting on him, still very fatigued. Watching the sunset in the countryside. "The view is beautiful." You say sleepily. "It really is." What you didn't realise is he was looking at you.
Hill, could you do a love triangle kinda thing where katsuki likes y/n and kiri is her best freind Yk but they like her too! It's more like a love... angle?
• Tyy
sorry! i only write for platonic yanderes on my blog, i wish there was more i could do to help
hey!! i found you from yanfluffery :) can i request present mic and a vigilante reader who is scared of him for some reason?
Present Mic x Vigilante!Reader
Author’s Notes: Ah! I love yanfluffery, their blog is the whole reason I started mine so this is great to hear! Since the age wasn’t specified, I made reader somewhere between 18-20, I hope you enjoy!
Many people forget that this man is an absolute crash out. No wonder villains are scared of him, he’s terrifying! Especially if people go after his loved ones or students.
The night you “met” was especially terrifying. You, being an up and coming vigilante, were listening to reports coming in from a stolen police radio. Lately there had been an uptick in villains who admired the LOV and were trying to imitate them.
You arrived at the scene, your quirk being great for close combat, which you got yourself into more often than not. Before you could even throw the first bunch, a loud sound invaded your ears.
It didn’t take long before you knew who it was— Present Mic: the Voice Hero. You had thought this man was nothing but whimsy, at least that’s how he displayed himself to the public. But, as you got closer you saw the scowl on his face.
This man was not here to mess around. You quickly fled the scene out of fear you’d be mistaken for a villain. But, it was too late. Present Mic had already memorized your face, because silly you didn’t think a mask was necessary for your “hero” costume.
Present Mic would be on the look out for you, unsure of your intentions.
Once he finds you on the scene of another villain attack, he stays back. This particular villain wasn’t the strongest, so he could afford to watch you for a little while.
That was when he saw it, your acts of bravery and heroism, as you took down the villain yourself. After passerbyers were done fawning over you and your made your exit, Mic was waiting.
He stood at the end of the alley way you were planning to sneak out of. You froze, before deciding to book it.
The chase lasted a while, you being pushed by pure adrenaline, but it didn’t matter, he caught up to you.
“Well, looks like I finally found you!” he said, returning to his cheerful persona. But, you saw it. You saw those eyes. He was locked onto you, like a predator who’s in it solely for the chase. “If you’d give me just a moment of your time,” he said, grabbing onto your forearm, “I’d love to get some information from you, hero name and all that. I’m sure your fans would be interested…”
He licked his lips. You felt him looking down at you, his high hairstyle creating the illusion he was much bigger and taller than you. “I don’t want to talk to you.” You replied, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold.
It was too late, he had decided you were his to learn all the details of. “You know, if it wasn’t for me when we first met, that villain surely would have killed you. I mean, you didn’t even think to hide your face… are you sure you’re fit to be a hero?”
You had always been sure, but as he degraded you, you could only feel yourself shrink. The blonde made you feel small, like your self-worth and dreams were being condensed with every new word uttered from his mouth.
“Why don’t I take you with me? And we can determine if you’re strong enough for you to be back on patrol…”
No matter how much you fought back, he never relented. He’d even resort to using his quirk against you if you were causing too much trouble.
He wasn’t lying, even as you were held captive in his house, he’d try to get you to talk about yourself. This man truly wanted to know everything about you, down to the smallest detail.
“C’mon kiddo, how am I suppose to tell if you’re fit to be a hero if you won’t tell me anything about yourself? Why, I don’t even if you had any pets as a child. That deeply affects a hero’s psyche you know.”
No matter what you revealed about yourself, the information would be twisted into him determining you were too weak to be a hero. Not just that, you were too weak to be on your own at all. You were his to take care of, his little research project.
This also means he’d do anything to see what makes you happy, but also to see what makes you upset. You were right to be scared of him, as his punishments can be cruel. If you ever tried to escape, he’d likely deafen you, at least temporarily, to teach you a lesson.
Truly though, he does love you. But, knowing everything about you often corrupts any affection he shows you. Still, don’t tell him too much, because then he’ll go deeper down the rabbit hole of your dependency on him.
After a couple months, you’re not allowed to do anything by yourself. He deems you too weak and and clumsy to truly take care of yourself. He truly is sickeningly sweet at times. All under the guise of taking care of you, but at any moment, the man could snap. You’ve seen him break enough times to know it’s something you wish to avoid.
“Now say ah, darling. No, no you can’t pick up the fork. You could cut yourself on the prongs! Now say ah.”
Platonic Yan!Older brother!Dabi with Teen sibling!Reader
Order placed by : Anon :]
Reader is written to be 16-18
I surprised myself for how many ideas I had for this request. I even had a different plot/set up idea, maybe I’ll write that one also, maybe. But hope you enjoy this Anon!
☆ Three years after his supposed death, Dabi woke up. And upon returning to his home to see that nothing had changed over the years. He decided to leave that house for good. Then he felt a small hand tugging on his shirt, you.
☆ Even after all this time you still managed to recognize him, and something in him made him take you with him. Away from this horrible family, you didn’t deserve this life. He could take better care of you then anyone else.
☆ He wouldn’t be strict about what you can do, wanting you to enjoy this new found freedom. But that doesn’t mean he’s letting you do things alone. He trusts you enough to not get seriously hurt but will always be there just in case. Besides, it’s making up for lost time.
☆ But whenever it comes to going on missions with the L.O.V it’s an immediate no. Dabi would never admit it but he hates the idea of you getting hurt, and he knows how dangerous the missions could get. And the idea that you could get snatched up by a hero angers him.
☆ One time the media had spotted you both out together late at night. Now all of a sudden he was being called a kidnapper, that the mystery, blue fire welding villain had stolen the lost Todoroki kid. But he didn’t take you, he saved you. And can you really call it kidnapping when it’s your sibling?
☆ Will always throw himself in front of you when in danger. He plans to protect you till his last breath, so anyone who even looks at you the wrong way will be incinerated instantly. Anyone who actually lays a finger on you will meet a face much worse than that.
☆ You're the only one allowed to call him Touya still, just not in front of the rest of the league. It’s called a secret identity for a reason. If you do accidentally, however, you aren’t safe from a lecture. He may not have a strict set of rules but that doesn’t mean he won’t discipline you when needed.
☆ Dabi had secretly nudged you into being friends with Himiko. He knew how lonely it’s been now that you two were on the run. You don’t get to meet others your age so when he met Himiko he made it a priority to make sure you two talked. He thought the same about Katsuki when they kidnapped him until he learned how… unfriendly he was. He didn’t want that behavior rubbing off on you.
