Yve's Garden

20s | Black 🤙🏾| She/They

[wh0rrorb4by]

ushijima taking advantage of of manager reader… Ohh…. 😭😭😭!!!

YESSSSSS!

tw: 18+, noncon/dubcon

.

top ace ushijima vs team manager… there’s a natural hierarchy. and he takes FULL advantage of it.

i can just see him cornering you in the storage room, or the locker room, or anywhere he can lock the door and pin you down somewhere — against the wall or on a bench. anywhere he can use his full strength against you as you squirm and get all teary-eyed.

“don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“you know i focus better when you cooperate.”

“you want me at my best, don’t you?”

you do, of course you do. you’d feel so badly if anything were to go wrong because of you. so if the star player needs to stuff your little cunny full so he can be on his A-game, shouldn’t you be a good little manager and just let him? your job is to support him in any way he needs, after all — even if he does need to remind you of that fact over and over again.

after practice, before big games, during hotel-stays when the team travels. a good manager lets the ace bully his thick cock into her entrance to keep him clear-headed and relieve stress, or take it deep in her throat as a way to congratulate him on another victory— and you want to be the best, don’t you?

you do, and you try so hard to be. even though it’s way too big— the stretch always burns and it hurts when he bullies it all the way in to cause a bulge in your tummy, and his strong hands leave bruises all over you when he holds you still and makes you take it all. and it’s so embarrassing that you always cry, especially when you uselessly push against his chest and he tells you to “stay still, don’t fight it — you’re not strong enough.”

he’s not even mocking you. just factual as he overpowers you completely, covering you with his much larger body, gripping your waist, your hips, your throat. he always tangles a hand through your hair when he knows you’re close, making you look at him as you fall apart on his cock, and you have to rush to cover your own mouth so no one lingering around in the gym hears you cry out for the team’s ace as you cum. and he forces you keep holding that eye contact as he fills you up, his eyes dark and fixated on you, sweat beading along his hairline and all his muscles tightening as he groans, filling you up with his warm, heavy load deep inside you.

it’s hard work keeping the ace at the very top of his game, and it goes almost entirely without praise. no one except ushijima sees all the extra hours you put into it. no one else knows why you exclusively wear skirts to practice and games, or why it’s hard for you to sit down on the hard bench for a couple days after a loss. they only see the results— his sharpened focus, his precision, his crushing wins. they never ask what fuels it, or wonder what it costs you to keep him that way. however it’s done, they’re just silently thankful, even if they have to pretend they don’t see his hand on your lower back when he stands next to you, or that his spare practice jacket is somehow always in your bag. no one thinks too much about how often you show up with bruised knees after “taking a spill” in the storage room, or why he smells like your perfume at the start of morning practice, or how you definitely squeak a little every time he spikes the ball so hard the sound echoes across the court— and the guys taking a water break are pretty sure you wince and rub your ass afterward, like it reminds you of a painful memory.

it doesn’t matter. if the cost of that precision, that overwhelming power on the court, lies between you and him, well — that’s the system. the structure that keeps the ace untouchable and his team victorious.

that’s what managers are for, right?

[ichxraaa]

ft. chubby reader!

jealous bully! after claiming they don't like you, after mocking you, after making fun of you and the way you look and how they would never date you, they don't do charity, are an idiot?

and you are too used to their pestering, to their voice in your ear and their idiotic comments, and why are you suddenly not reacting? why aren't you upset? it's a bit consuming the way they expect a reaction but they are in denial, because of course they are.

and then they see you, laughing at some stupid joke the bastard across the table from you said, and you look so happy, so at ease, and they feel like puking.

you go to the restroom and they are there, cornering you against the wall as you tell them to fuck off, and they are kissing you, one hand gripping the chubb from you cheek that the've always claimed disgusts them so much, and you you try to get them off of you, and that's even more infuriating. why would you try to reject them?

they part just enough to be able to speak, their other hand wrapped around your wrist as your hand presses against their chest, your skin is warm and you smell so good, and why didn't they notice how good you smell before?

"you better not dare look at someone else like that again or I'm going to rip their head off".

[traddykes]

being told to take that cock while you’re pinned and getting fucked is so hot cause it’s not an ask or praise, it’s an outright demand. they’re inside you, pounding your cunt so hard and slamming into you that you can barely catch your breath and you quite literally have no choice but to take it. the phrase is a mockery, made to remind you to lay there and submit, let your cunt do what it does best

[arieswritez]

Girlie I have just caught up with invincible and ain’t nobody doing it like you. Why is no one writing for my boy or his demonic alternates. Anywho, I literally can’t stop thinking about if a yan!mark replaced our sweet beloved mark through some interdimensional switchroo thing. But can you imagine, yan!mark trying to play along until he gets fed up and shows his true colours 😳😳🥵🥵

a change in you | alternate/yan!mark x gn!reader

cw; DARK CONTENT!! MDNI! stalking, manipulation, abusive relationships, threats of violence, & actual violence, rape.

a/n; this is a SUUPER old ask (like last yr..) & i can't believe i had never posted it HHHH will try to publish some nearly finished asks/short fics while i finish up puppy love :3 also as a DISCLAIMER!!! there's an implication that may be interpreted as the reader menstruating but - much like my yandere!nsfw hcs - it's vague. can be interpreted as a nosebleed, too. the story will not change whatsoever if you don't menstruate :) that being said, there are no mentions of reader's sex characteristics. okie thank u bye 🫶🏾

i like to think the way you find out about mark's obsession is purely accidental.

you've always known mark to be. . eccentric.

but it's always been cute. awkward in the way young men are and you're glad he was the first boy you experienced romance with. mark was safe and kind, loving, and infuriating, but overall: you felt he made you a better person and you were glad you got to navigate those complicated emotions with him.

mark was always patient, caring, even when he was going through tough shit himself.

and despite how much you know and love mark, you couldn't pinpoint when you felt something in him had changed.

it was like he turned into a completely different person in the blink of an eye.

the way he'd style his hair, the clothes he wore, the way he walked, talked. . the way he touched you was so different.

but you gave him grace.

you had to be strong for the both of you.

you knew trauma was complicated.

you knew to be there for him during moments of apathy and self loathing. . even in moments where that apathy - that invisible dam holding everything together - would burst and leave you in the midst of an outburst.

you knew what you signed up for.

you knew it was bound to happen and you still loved him, anyway.

people are not themselves when they've gone through traumatic experiences.

but something was. . off about mark.

a slight darkness you weren't sure was completely attributed to grief alone.

he tried to initiate sex in the most inopportune times. and sometimes, the two of you are just making out, sweet and innocent, a peck that devolved into something more passionate.

he'd always end on top of you, pinning you, biting you, and oftentimes you're on the brink of tears, begging him to stop when he wrestles his way between your thighs.

the furthest he's gone has been the two of you nearly naked, pinning you by the throat with his cock in hand. the film always leaves his eyes and he makes up with kisses and hugs while you sob into his chest.

it's trauma, you tell yourself, it makes people not act like themselves. little do you know that he was just trying to wear you down.

you used to imagine the life you and mark would lead.

graduating and attending the same college was something the two of you had been planning since you started dating. the shitty little apartment outside of campus mark wanted so desperately was just a small bonus. something that'd make the two of you feel all the more grown up.

a place with more privacy, he'd said while wiggling his brows and biting your shoulder. it was cute. quiet. definitely private.

and most importantly, it wasn't just mark's. no, he'd made that crystal clear. the apartment was for you both. and with excited hugs and smothering kisses, he pulled away long enough to put a small key into the palm of your hand.

afterwards, it was only a matter of time.

you thought it was cute: when you found the box. you thought it was a surprise he'd been planning for you. something for your birthday or your anniversary. you'd found it while tidying up and you sat on his bed, debating if you should open it.

if it was for you. . you wouldn't wanna ruin the surprise.

and it wasn't, you didn't want to invade his privacy.

but, alas, curiosity got the best of you and you opened the pretty little box with the bow on it.

the top was filled with polaroids with the two of you: making silly faces at the camera while he pointed it at the mirror, the two of you in an amusement park, your arms filled with stuffed animals he'd won for you. others, with you smiling, then sticking your hand in front of the camera. candid shots of you sitting across from him, looking out of a car's window, reading, writing.

. . eating. .

. .changing. .

. . showering. .?

sleeping. .

and beneath the polaroids, you plucked out bits of clothing you swore you'd lost.

a bracelet.

a ring.

an earring.

crumpled band-aids with rusted blood and - cotton- ?

you slam the box closed, your heart hammering in your chest.

and all of a sudden, things didn't feel right. they hadn't before. . but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that confirmed it all.

and even then, you tried lying to yourself. you tried telling yourself that it was just something he did to cope with the fear of losing you.

he's woken up in the middle of the night, grasping for you, hyperventilating at the thought of you gone.

he's sobbed in your arms, and sometimes, within his hysteria, he's told you you'll die one day. and he won't know what to do with himself. so you tell yourself, he's afraid.

he's holding onto everything he can and you shouldn't judge the way he copes. . you shouldn't.

but even then, the way your hair rises at the nape of your neck, or the way gooseflesh spread across your skin as you stumble away from the bed. . you don't know what to think.

except: i need to get out of here. and mark needs help before he hurts the both of us.

you dont care that the box is on the bed when you throw your jacket on.

you dont care when you half hazardly snatch your keys off the bed and rush to the door.

your brain is running on paranoia, senses on fire, as your body runs on pure adrenaline.

you dont think anything could stop you but as you walk out of the bedroom, you bump into a body that might as well be a brick wall.

his response is immediate and you wonder if he can hear the way your heart races inside your chest when the two of you make eye contact.

you hope your initial face expression didn't flicker with horror that millisecond. but you think it did. judging by the way his eyes narrow.

"you alright?"

you blink, adjust your bag over your shoulder. "yeah! i was just -"

you try to side step him.

he steps in your way.

whether intentionally or not. . panic rises within you like bile : ready to spill out. "i'm just stepping out for a minute. i was -"

"you didnt tell me you were coming."

you pause. "u-uh, yeah. i wanted to surprise you but. . i -" think quick. you think on your feet, or you dont think at all. "- forgot the surprise in my car!"

mark stares at you for a second, unblinkingly. and the blank expression is enough to grab you by the throat and stop your breathing.

he blinks.

and his lips spread into a small smile that looks more like a sneer.

"we can't have that, can we?" his voice is lower, slower, more pronounced as he inunsiates.

and you feel a chill within your body in his presence that you've never felt before.

"go on, then." he whispers, staring directly into your eyes. his words are breathy, you can hear his breathing picking up. . the same breathiness you'd notice in the bedroom when you'd start kissing on his neck.

he dips down to plant a quick, departing kiss on your lips. .

. . and you flinch.

you hear him snicker. . or huff out a humorless laugh.

he pulls back. all the while you freeze at your own reaction.

". . are you sure you're ok?" he asks, but he doesn't sound all that concerned.

in fact, the question doesn't even feel like a question. it sounds more like he's stating something.

"i'm fine." you say quickly. you try to side step him again.

he steps in your way.

he stops, laughs, as if it was a mistake. . but the laugh is cruel. more of a giggle.

you side step him.

he steps in your way.

now. . now you know it's on purpose. and your heart's racing so fast you think your knees are going to give out. you scour your brain for excuses while your senses scream at you to fight him. you're not doing too good at fleeing, after all.

but you know it wont end well. mark is a million times stronger than you. and the thought of him hurting you has never crossed your mind but you know he needs help and you're not sure what to think anymore.

but your frozen in place. and like the poem, as you plan out every single, miniscule detail of your escape: the fig tree rots.

you're waiting. and you don't know what you're waiting for. for him to attack you, maybe? for him to get it over with?

like a cheesy horror movie, you wait for the jumpscare. but the jumpscare never comes.

you know it will but you don't know when. and so, until then, you wait and try to ignore that feeling in your stomach.

the two of you stand there in suspended silence and, finally, you watch his eyes leave yours.

in a slow, fluid, agonizing crawl, you watch his eyes peek over your shoulder. . into the bedroom where the bed is most likely in view. .

. . as is the innocent little gift box.

you hadn't even thought to close the door behind you in your haste. and the realization bathes you in anguish.

"is that it on the bed?" he whispers.

he knows it's not.

but still, you weakly whisper, "yes." sure, anything, your brain begs, please just leave me alone.

"you lied to me."

"mark, i really have to go."

he leans towards you and whispers against your lips: "you wanna go through it together?"

he dips forward to press his mouth against yours and you jerk away in panic.

you try to move around him, but the move causes you to stumble back. . into the bedroom. . and he takes a step forward.

"seriously, mark! i have to go!"

he straightens.

fixes you that same blank expression.

and then, the glaze in his eyes leaves.

"whatever." he says.

you get out of his way and rush towards the door. . weaving through corridors, you don't notice when your feet pick up speed and you're sprinting towards the front door.

your bag drops in your haste but you see the front door.

your palm closes against the doorknob.

you open it.

it slams back shut.

the sound rattles your bones.

and you don't have to look up to know there's a palm holding it shut. . you can feel mark's body pressing up behind you.

his breathing's quick. . and you can feel his heart beating against your back. . and his hard cock pressing against you.

he dips down and you flinch at the feeling of his hot breath ghosting along the shell of your ear when he whispers, "and here i was, thinking i'd keep it up for a few more weeks. . or until you gave it up, at least."

"mark," you plead, tears streaming down your face. "i know you're going through a lot. and i know this isn't you. please, just. . let me help you, ok?"

"help me? how would you do that -"

" - we'd get you someone to talk to-"

" - it seems to me the only thing you were doing was leaving."

"no! mark, i wasn't!"

"no?" he singsongs and you tense when one of his hands weaves through the space between the door and your waist, placing a hand beneath your belly button and pulling your hips back so you can feel his cock pressing against you.

"no." you whimper. "i swear i wasn't."

and instead of pulling, mark steps closer and pins you against the door as his hips rock, humping against your ass as your body freezes.

"good." he murmurs. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

you loved the little life the two of you lead. it wasn't glamorous. nothing like the shiny, five bedroom mansion you'd imagine you'd own when you were six years old, obsessed with reality tv and prince charming. but it was homey. and you had mark.

when he came into your life, as long as he was there with you, it's all that mattered.

you guys had furnished the apartment together.

he'd helped you move that heavy couch near the front door, across from the television.

you'd spend lazy days cuddled up against each other, fingers greasy with popcorn, as you tried your best to ignore mark's rambling and comments throughout the movie. you'd lounged there, slept there, felt his hands at your hips, pulling you back towards him with his breath on the side of your neck as he moved inside of you.

you'd felt loved then.

you're not sure what it is now.

your body hangs off the arm as he slams into you from behind and still, you try reaching for the doorknob. your fingertips only brush against it, slip against the shiny metal, crying out when you can't get a good grip on it.

the golden doorknob jingles cruelly, tauntingly, before mark gets sick of hearing it. he grabs your arm and forces it behind you, holding it in a vice grip to your lower back. he does the same with the other when you try to wriggle it out from under you.

you feel him lean down over you, the smell of him filling your senses, and whispers, "he must've been so nice to you. . fucked you so good," he enunciates the word with a sharp thrust." . you're spoiled. i don't know how he controlled himself. you so desperately need to be fucked up."

he grabs a fistful of your hair and forces you to your knees, back against his chest, and squeezes your throat with his other hand.

you claw at them as you try to rasp out his name before you find that there is no use.

after all, you're not sure you can call him your mark anymore.

[arieswritez]

cupid

cupid | dirtbag!mark x lovesick f!reader

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! manipulation, cheating (srry eve 🫶🏾), coercion, dubcon/noncon, unprotected sex, breeding kink, corruption kink, virgin reader, misogyny (?), no actually no question mark he's a seedy misogynist, reader wears a skirt, victim blaming, mind break

about; mark is a red flag & a liar but he's cute so it makes up for it.

a/n; thinking about mark 'just the tip' grayson who dotes on cute little virgins and swipes their cherries 🫶🏾

mark is your best friend.

he has been for very a long time. in fact, the two of you have been friends far before he knew it.

the two of you basically grew up together: lived in the same neighborhood and went to the same schools. you knew him. but he didn't know you. and it wasn't until high school when the two of you officially became friends.

and you'll admit, it was a little awkward when william - the only friend the both of you had in common - introduced the two of you.

mark had said his name. and you'd said, "i know."

you wondered if the look mark gave you was one of amusement or concern.

nonetheless, he was everything you thought he'd be. you were glad he didn't seem weirded out by your overt clinginess or how much you seemed to latch onto his opinion. you'd do almost anything for his approval: often discarding interests he'd make off-handed comments about, convincing yourself you didn't really like it all that much, anyway. you knew you wanted to be around him all the time. . but you didn't know what to do about the butterflies you'd get whenever the two of you made eye contact.

cupid was funny.

cupid had a way of coming into your life when you least expected it. when it was least convenient. and you found yourself embarrassed by your own emotions. it's just a crush, you'd told yourself, it'll go away. because, how deep could your feelings for mark really go?

surely, it was innocent. mark was the first boy who'd flashed a smile in your direction and your heart immediately started doing summersaults. it was the raging hormones. . kid stuff.

you were sure of it.

but years passed and cupid wouldn't leave you alone.

finally, you'd worked up the courage to tell him how you felt. made up an excuse about needing help with a couple of classes and mark - always so sweet - told you he'd be glad to help. you'd stuttered through your confession. but mark never made a face. in fact, he'd let you down so nicely it was hard to be upset. he'd given you a warm smile, told you you were sweet. . but he wasn't looking for a romantic relationship.

cupid was cruel, you decided.

you tried convincing yourself: that's fine. that's okay.

mark viewed you as nothing more than a friend and you understood that. you weren't angry. just. . stung. and when he'd started dating amber, then eve, you thought to yourself: so much for not being ready for a romantic relationship.

it wasn't long until you realized that actually meant, i'm not ready for a romantic relationship with you.

you couldn't blame him. not really. amber and eve were gorgeous, there was no denying it. and eve had something you didn't. eve related to mark in a way neither amber or you could. and you understood that. but that didn't mean you particularly liked it.

you'd sit with william at the lunch table and try not to tune out his talking, but you'd end up doing it, anyway. you'd zone out and look across the table as mark and his girlfriend laughed to whatever joke he'd most likely said. mark would walk his fingers across the table and gently hold his partner's hand, caressing the top of it with his thumb and they'd smile and giggle. and you'd think to yourself, how i'd like to have a love like that.

not just with anyone, but with mark.

you felt mark was the only one who'd give you that type of love. that type of feeling in your chest. the thump, thump, thump necessary to have your lips splitting into a grin and your world smelling like saccharine and hibiscus. you wanted a love like his.

you wanted him.

and you ignored william aiming fries at your head and trying to call you back down to earth - "hello, anyone home?" - as you dreamily stared across the table.

you'd play the game. you'd wait. for as long as the relationship would last and hopefully, mark would turn his sights on you, next.

the two of you remained friends, of course you did. mark was nice. he was genuine and sweet and he'd never push you away because of some innocent crush. he'd always make sure not to leave you out of his plans. but he was weary, because many of those plans, involved having eve around, too. and he'd pulled you aside once and told you,

"i don't want it to be weird. you're still my friend, y'know?"

and you'd joked, "it won't be! i'm over you, anyway~"

and the two of you laughed and that was that. you excused yourself to the bathroom and splashed water in your face to fight back tears. that was that.

you knew boundaries would have to be set so you wouldn't step on her toes. eve was good for mark, you'd never do anything to hurt her. and you didn't want her to think you disliked her by not going to an event just because she was going to be there.

so, despite everything in you screaming at you not to - you agree to go to that party. even when you knew eve would be there, too.

mark wouldn't have had it any other way.

you had fun. and you convinced yourself it was fine to dance with william while mark and eve cuddled close. it was fine.

you convinced yourself you were drinking to let loose, not to forget about that ugly feeling brewing in your chest. one drink turned into two.

two and then. . you'd lost count.

liquor goes down easy when it's sweet and you've always liked the things you're not supposed to have.

so, it was only a matter of time when they dragged you into the middle of a game of truth or dare. william - bless his heart - had tried to sober you up before you made a mistake. but liquor made you brave. it made you fun. and in your drunken stupor: you'd admitted you were a touchless, kiss-less virgin.

you wish you'd been sober enough to see mark's face.

in hindsight, you should've been.

a few months later and mark couldn't keep his hands off of you.

"no, she won't find out. she won't care.

no, we do this all the time.

it's an arrangement we have, me and her, we. . it's complicated. she's done this before. it happens. it's not that big a deal~"

it was college, he'd said, things change. it's good, healthy even, for a couple to experiment with others. that's what college is all about: exploring. figuring out what you like and what you don't. says eve is doing the same.

but for someone who claims to have an open relationship, mark does his best to keep the two of you a secret. he won't let you near eve for the life of you. and you watch his face screw up with indignation whenever you mention her. you ask what's wrong, and he changes the subject, says he just wants to focus on you. but you're not dumb. you know what he's playing at. and you know you should be mad. you should be furious he's playing you like this but you're not and that's the problem.

you don't care what attention he's giving you as long as it's attention.

so you let him.

you let him when your parents aren't home and when eve is preoccupied with something else. you let him into your room even though he's not supposed to be there. you let him smother you in kisses and slip his hands beneath your shirt, his warm hands smoothing up your waist, blunt nails dragging across your ribs. and before you know it, you're raising your arms to help him take your shirt off.

you let him hook his hands around your thighs and pull you towards him, slotting himself closer between your thighs as his hands slide beneath your skirt, sliding off your panties without taking the skirt off, just bunching it up and flipping it over on your belly to expose your embarrassingly wet cunt.

the way he can work you up from just making out is almost pathetic. he's barely touched you and you're already leaking for him. the two of you are inexperienced. . more so you than mark.

he's shown you how to kiss, how to touch him, hell, even how to touch yourself. but he hasn't shown you how to cum ;( you don't get to do that without his permission.

he says that, despite this, he's still never had sex. the furthest he's gone has been outercourse stuff. says eve isn't ready. says he understands, but he likes you. he really does. and if it were ever to amount to more. . he wishes it was you.

mark 'just the tip' grayson who holds open your thighs in a bruising grip when you try to close them. asks you to keep them open, pretty please, and proceeds to tongue at your clit like he's trying to make you sing. (he is).

coaxes slick out of your cunt while he nurses on your puffy little clit and stuffs his fingers inside you while his hips rut against the bed. the way he's tasting you has you on edge and the two of you promised there'd be no funny business until the two of you are actually ready. . but your fingers are tangled in his hair and his cock is slicking up your sheets because he's shoved his pants down beneath his ass ;( its like the two of you are in heat and when you pull mark up to kiss him you taste yourself on his tongue and the way you're moaning into each others mouths somehow makes the room's temperature sky-rocket.

mark 'just the tip' grayson who says the magic words with glossy eyes and a blush high on his face. he looks so needy and debauched, all messy hair and swollen lips. begs you, "baby please" just the tip. he promises. no more, he just wants to feel you.

and then he'll pull out and make you cum so hard you'll see stars.

mark 'just the tip' grayson who fucks his cock between your pussy lips, his eyes locked between your legs as he watches his cock slide against your swollen cunt. he's drunk on you, the way you smell, the way you look, the little sounds you make and how your hips flinch whenever the head of his cock pushes against your clit. who hisses, "i'm gonna breed that little cunt." and ignores the look you give him.

it's just dirty talk, a little voice in your head says.

but another tells you you can't bring yourself to care what it is as long as he keeps his hands on you.

you watch with nervous excitement as he takes his cock in hand and redirects it towards your opening. looks you in the eyes and slowly pushes against resistance until the head of his cock pops in.

the two of you tense and you squeak so loud mark doesn't know how he doesn't immediately cum. you squeeze immediately and you feel and look so damn good. your skin is hot to the touch and you're partly dressed, a pretty little 'o' to your lips as your toes curl with the fullness you feel. the head of his cock is so fat it's borderline uncomfortable but he's hot inside you and the pressure feels different and good, nothing like his fingers and you're so, so dizzy. your head swimming with thoughts of only him. the way his hair was mussed by your hands, his bite swollen lips, and the way his eyes fluttered shut when he first slid into you are memories you're sure you'll never forget.

but it doesn't stop your heart from racing when he inches just a bit deeper. you've only had fingers inside you before and he's too much. . too soon.

you tell him you cant take it but he knows you can.

mark 'just the tip' grayson who folds you in half and feeds his cock into your cunt despite your protests. despite you trying to push his hips away with shaking hands, crying out as you find you have no leverage. your legs uselessly kicking out against his shoulders.

mark 'just the tip' grayson who mounts you and stays on top of you, his knees against the back of your thighs and his ball sack snug against your perineum while his cock throbs deep down inside your pussy. who has to blink stars out of his eyes because, jesus, he's inside of you. and you're tighter than anyone he's ever had.

he's taken amber's cherry.

and he's taken eve's.

but yours might be his favorite <3

mark 'just the tip' grayson who stuffs your panties in your mouth when your parents come back home and he doesn't want to stop fucking you. if you weren't ready, if you didn't want it, then why is your slick stretching, sticky and viscous, threading and snapping with each of his thrusts, making lewd wet sounds that resonate in the room whenever his balls smack against your ass and his pubic bone grinds against your swollen little clit?

if you weren't ready why is your cream collecting at the base of his cock, frothing around him and hypnotizing him. if you weren't ready, why are your hands holding a pillow over your face to cover your whimpers as he drills into you in a mating press, why aren't you pushing him away? why are your hips bucking against his, chasing him, why is your pussy clenching around him and why are your moans getting louder?

why do you squeak out in ecstasy when he sloppily grinds into you and cums at the very back of your pussy? why do you tense and cry when he rubs your needy clit and pinches the gummy flesh between thumb and forefinger, when he spreads your lips open and spits on your clit, smudging the saliva there even if it isn't necessary? If you weren't ready, why do your legs lock around his waist for round two?

he said he's never done this before but as he wrings a second orgasm out of you. . forcing your back into an arch as you cry into the pillow, you're not so sure that's true.

[simplepon]

Hold me together

tags ⟡ heavy angst, trauma, aftermath, hurt/comfort, reader isn’t okay, mark isn't okay, yearning lowkey, soft mark, p in v, emotional sex, suggestive themes, 20k word count pretty long so beware, complicated, MDNI 18+

pt. 1 - puppet strings synopsis ⟡ after the incident, you withdraw, unable to escape the weight of what happened, mark refuses to give up on you, but as you continue to push him away, the strain between you reaches a breaking point, and he can't take it anymore.

Noises and footsteps blurred together into something distant and suffocating-agents passing by, doors opening and shutting, voices overlapping into a dull hum. Scientists you didn’t recognize drifted past in white coats, their conversations hushed, clinical, detached. Everything felt wrong, too bright, too loud, too real.

You couldn’t think, not really, not after what happened.

Mark had flown you here, held you so carefully it almost hurt, and guided you into the government building like you might shatter if he let go. His hand was still splayed against your back, warm and steady, anchoring you to something solid, something safe. Without it, you were certain you would’ve drifted apart entirely, unraveled into nothing.

Everything passed in a blur, you noticed the color of the walls were light grey, and you sometimes would hear overlapping conversations, which you didn’t bother to try to understand what they were talking about.

Some people looked at you-really looked-with something like pity, like they could piece together what had been done to you just from the way you held yourself. Others didn’t bother at all. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

It didn’t matter.

You just wanted to disappear.

“Ma’am?”

The voice was soft. Gentle. It pulled you back like a thread tugging you to the surface. You blinked, your gaze dragging upward.

A doctor stood in front of you, her expression careful, her eyes filled with a kind of quiet empathy that made your chest ache. You couldn’t bring yourself to focus on her features couldn’t hold onto anything long enough, you were too tired and too hollowed out.

Her gaze flickered over you, your disheveled hair, your swollen lip, the faint bruises staining your skin like something you couldn’t wash off. 

“Yes?” Your voice came out small. Fragile, you wrapped your arms around yourself instinctively, the gda stained jacket engulfing your figure like a shield, like you could hold yourself together.

Mark stayed close, too close, not suffocating-never that-but present in a way that made your chest hurt, and his eyes were on you, soft and full of something you couldn’t bear to name, like you were everything, and you didn’t want him to look at you like that, it just hurts.

And it hurt, because he didn’t get it, because even though you didn’t want it, didn’t ask for it, maybe some part of you hadn’t fought hard enough, some part of you had frozen, had let it happen.

Because they looked like him.

Your stomach churned.

You were disgusting.

“Is it okay if we talk in another room?” the doctor asked gently, glancing between you and Mark.

Your arms trembled where they held you, and you nodded faintly, barely moving, you felt Mark’s hand shifted slightly against your back, grounding, waiting, always waiting for you, his eyes met yours, silently asking

“He can come,” you muttered hoarsely, the words barely there, and the doctor nodded and led the way.

You followed, and Mark didn’t leave your side for a second.

The crowded noise faded as you turned down a quieter hallway, and the echo of footsteps replaced the chaos, softer, more distant, the silence here felt different-heavier, but calmer, just like the world had narrowed down to just this moment, this silent corridor, the three of you walking toward something you didn’t want to face.

The doctor momentarily stopped at a door, in front of the med bay infirmary room. 

“I can examine your injuries,” she began carefully, her tone measured, respectful, carefully, choosing each word with precision. “And give you medication for the inflammation that you may feel later…”

She hesitated, just for a second, pausing and then continued. 

“And… I can prescribe preventative medication, for infections and emergency contraception.”

The words hit like a physical blow, a cruel reminder that loomed over you again, and your breath caught.

Everything came rushing back, the pressure, the hands, the way they touched you, the way you couldn’t move, their hands gripping too tight, fingers digging into your skin, the suffocating weight, the way-

You bit your lip too hard, and the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.

Mark went still beside you, completely still. You could feel it, the way his body locked up, his breath uneven like he was barely holding himself together.

You nodded quickly, too quickly, and you tried to not break apart, but you couldn’t keep it inside anymore, your lips trembled, your tears spilling before you could stop them, and you felt Mark’s hand moved slow, careful, rubbing your back in small, steady motions, like he was trying to remind you that you were still here, that you weren’t there anymore, and he was right there.

He didn’t like seeing you like this, god, it was hurting him so much, his expression shattered open, he was trying so hard to be strong, for you, because you needed that right now.

“That’s okay,” he murmured under his breath, voice cracking. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You weren’t, but you didn’t correct him, you let out a shaky exhale.

“A medical exam will also be conducted,” the doctor continued softly. “Would you like Mr. Grayson present?”

“Yes.” The answer came immediately, no hesitation.

Mark’s head turned toward you, something in his expression fracturing. “It’s okay,” he started, voice low, fragile. “You don’t have to if you’re not-”

“I want you there.”

You looked at him then, and really looked at him, and your eyes were red, exhausted, broken but unwavering, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. “Please.” You finally whispered, and he just nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered, like it was a promise, like it was something sacred. “I’m here.” 

“Right this way-”

“Mark.” The voice cut through everything.

Mark turned sharply, and you did too, slower, heavier, and Eve stood there, her expression tight, conflicted, and there was something stormy in her eyes-urgency, guilt, something unspoken, she stepped closer, her gaze flickering to you briefly, sadness softened her features before she forced herself to look back at him.

“Mark… I… know this isn’t a good time, there never is.” Her voice wavered slightly. “But another Viltrumite just landed, we don’t know who but-Cecil picked up the energy readings. We-we have to go, we’re the only ones who can.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, like you and just him realized what that meant,

Mark’s eyes widened, his expression collapsing into despair.

“No,” he breathed, immediate, instinctive, his hand tightened against your back, like he was afraid someone might take you. “No, I can’t-I’m not leaving her.”

And he meant it, every part of him refused, and you could feel it in the way he stood closer, almost shielding you, like the world itself was something he needed to fight off, like if he left you for one second again, that something would take you from him, and another terrible thing will happen again, to you again.

He can’t.

“I know,” Eve said quietly. “But people need us.”

“I DON’T CARE!” The words came out harsher than intended, raw and cracked. “They always need us-why is it always now-”

His voice faltered.

Because he knew.

Because he always knew.

His gaze snapped back to you, and everything in him softened, shattered.

He looked like he was breaking.

“Please,” he whispered, quieter now, like it was just for you. “Don’t make me go.”

Your chest tightened, because a part of you didn’t want him to go either, you didn’t want to be alone, not right now, not like this.

But-

“Go,” you said softly, and the word hurt coming out, and Mark shook his head immediately. “No.”

“Mark-”

“I said I’d stay.” His voice cracked, desperate now. “I’m not leaving you, not after- not now- I can’t-”

You reached for him, your hand weak but steady as it found his arm, pulling his eyes to yours.

“People need you,” you said again, quieter this time, your lips trembled into something that almost resembled a smile. “Go.” His brown eyes searched yours, like he was looking for permission, for something to hold onto, for a reason to stay, and you didn’t give him one.

Because you couldn’t, because this is who he was, and because this is what he did.

“Okay,” he said finally, the word barely audible, it sounded like it broke him.

Eve glanced between Mark and you, noticing the way his gaze lingered-like the rest of the room had dissolved, leaving only the two of you, a realization dawned inside her, but she said nothing, her chest ached, and she turned her eyes away.

“But I’m coming back,” he rushed out, stepping closer, like he couldn’t stand the distance. “I promise-I won’t leave you, not again. I won’t-” His voice gave out.

You nodded, even as your vision blurred, but deep down you didn’t want him to come back to you, the guilt and shame crawling and burying deep inside you, it was too horrible to bear, but you couldn’t tell him that, maybe this was for the better.

“I’ll be here,” you whispered, looking at him finally, and the stare you gave him, it was off in a way that made his chest tighten, he hesitated, for just a second too long like if he stayed any longer, he wouldn’t leave at all, and then he was gone, and so was Eve.

Just like that, and the space beside you felt colder instantly.

Empty.

You stared at the place he’d been standing, your expression hollow, like something inside you had been quietly taken with him, but it was taken from you, and you couldn’t get it back.

“Right this way, miss,” the doctor said gently, her voice softer now, more careful, as it pulled you back to reality.

The door opened with a quiet click.

The sterile scent of antiseptic drifted out to meet you,

You stepped inside.

Alone. **

The invincible war, or whatever everyone called it on the news, was over, the destruction was over, and the invincibles were taken care of, dealt with, no one really knew how, you heard some brief reports before you left the GDA building, that Angstrom teleported them back, it just went out the other ear.

Before you got home, you were discharged.

“Any prior medical history we should know about?”

The doctor’s voice was steady, gentle, too gentle, like she was afraid you might break if she spoke too loudly, you sat on the edge of the exam bed, the thin paper crinkling beneath you every time you shifted, the gown they’d given you hung loosely off your frame, the fabric unfamiliar and wrong against your skin. It wasn’t tight, wasn’t rough but it still made your stomach twist.

Changing into it had been worse than you expected, your hands had trembled when she first handed it to you, and something as simple as changing clothes shouldn’t have felt like that but it did, your chest had tightened, your breath shallow, your fingers hesitating at the hem of your shirt like you physically couldn’t bring yourself to take it off.

For a moment, you hadn’t moved at all…because all you could think about was hands that weren’t yours, touch that didn’t belong, still lingering inside your skin.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself back to the present.

“No,” you answered, your voice flat, distant. “If you mean allergies or… anything like that, I’m pretty clear.” your hands were clasped tightly in your lap, knuckles pale, fingers digging into each other like you needed something to hold onto.

The doctor nodded, making a quiet note before continuing her examination.

Her touch was careful, Nothing like- you shut the thought down immediately.

She examined the bruises along your arms, your collarbone, the faint marks that bloomed across your skin like something ugly and permanent, even though she was gentle, even though she warned you before every movement, your body still reacted, flinching, tensing, and pulling in on itself.

You hated it, you really hated it,

“Let me know if anything hurts,” she murmured softly.

Everything hurt, but you just nodded.

The injection came next.

“This may sting a little,” she said, and you felt the needle pierced your skin, sharp and quick, a brief burn spreading through your arm, and you watched it happen distantly, like it wasn’t even your body, like you were somewhere else entirely.

It stung, but not like that, not even close.

A hollow feeling settled in your chest at the comparison, and you looked away as she pressed a small cotton pad to your arm before carefully wrapping it in a bandage.

“There we go,” she said quietly.

The rest blurred together, just more checks, more quiet instructions, and the sound of latex gloves, the soft rustle of fabric, the steady rhythm of her voice explaining things you barely processed, just your mind felt really heavy, like it was wrapped in fog, each word slipping through before you could hold onto it.

You nodded when you were supposed to, answered when necessary, but you weren’t really there.

“…and for the emergency contraception,” the doctor continued, her tone just as careful as before, “take a single 1.5 milligram dose within 72 hours. If you have any concerns, you can come back for a follow-up visit in about two to three weeks.”

She placed the small bottle into your hand, it felt heavier than it should have, and you stared at it, your fingers curled around it slowly, like you didn’t quite recognize what you were holding, the implication of it sat heavy in your chest, the thought that not only did they violated you, they imprinted something in you, like it was their way of owning you even if they weren’t there, like the heavy words they echoed in your ear jeeringly that you were theirs, and you wouldn’t be able to escape.

Your throat tightened, you forced yourself to look up, pulling together something that resembled a smile-even though it felt brittle, like it might shatter at any second.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice didn’t sound like yours, you slid off the exam bed, your legs unsteady for just a second before you found your balance, the room felt too white and too clean, the sharp scent of antiseptic clung to everything, making your stomach churn.

The doctor nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile-and then paused.

“Oh-one second.” and she stepped out of the room, the door clicking softly behind her, and suddenly, it was quiet, too quiet, you stood there, alone in the sterile cold space, your arms instinctively wrapping around yourself again, the gown felt thin, still exposing, even though it covered you completely.

You hated how small you felt, and how aware you were of your own body, how it didn’t feel like yours.

Your grip tightened around the medicine bottle.

The door opened again not long after, and the doctor stepped back in, holding a folded set of clothes.

“Here,” she said gently, offering them to you. “Something clean.”

You looked down at them for a moment before taking them carefully, your fingers brushing the fabric like you were testing it,

“Thank you,” you murmured again, quieter this time.

She nodded. “Of course.”

You changed again, slower this time, more careful, every movement felt deliberate, like you had to remind yourself that it was you doing it, that no one else was there, that no one was watching, that you were safe, and when you stepped back out, dressed, you felt… marginally better.

Maybe still not okay,just… less exposed.

You moved toward the door, ready to leave-ready to get out of this room, this building, this entire place-

“-Hey.” Your name followed, and you paused, your hand hovering near the door knob before you turned slightly, glancing over your shoulder, the doctor stood there, her expression different now. Not just professional and not just careful.

Something more human.

“I know I don’t know you,” she said quietly. “And I know I’m just your doctor… but I want you to hear this.”

You didn’t move, just staring into her eyes that held yours, steady, unwavering.

“It’s not your fault.” and the words landed heavier than anything else had today, your breath caught.

“None of it is,” she continued gently. “And you don’t have to carry that on your own, please… take care of yourself, you’ve been through something incredibly difficult today.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think, just that your throat tightened, your eyes burning again as you gave a small, shaky nod.

“…okay,” you whispered, it was barely audible, but it was all you had, and you turned back toward the door, and this time, you walked out.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, long and quiet, the distant echoes of footsteps returning as you moved forward.

At least you were leaving.

Even if it didn’t feel like you were really getting away.

**

Time passed.

At least, you think it did, because days blurred together into something shapeless and heavy, slipping through your fingers before you could even hold onto them, the clock on your wall ticked endlessly, each second sharp and hollow, echoing in the quiet like it was mocking you, it used to be comforting routine, predictable, something constant.

But now it just reminded you that everything kept moving… even when you couldn’t, and your room stayed dark most of the time, curtains drawn, door closed, and it’s always closed.

It felt safer that way, like if you stayed inside long enough, the world couldn’t reach you.

And sometimes, your brother would knock, soft at first, and then a little louder.

“Hey… are you okay?” His voice was small, always careful, like he was afraid of the answer.

You’d sit there on your bed, staring at nothing, your throat tight as you forced words out.

“I’m fine.” You always said that, even when your voice cracked, even when it was obviously a lie, there would be a pause on the other side of the door, you could almost picture him standing there, shifting his weight, unsure if he should push further.

“…Do you need anything?”

“No.”

Another pause.

“…Okay.” His footsteps would fade after that, and somehow, that made it worse because he knew, It was hard when your brother eventually found out the news,  not everything but enough, enough to worry, enough to look at you differently, enough to be scared for you.

And he was so young, and he was trying, really trying to understand something that he wasn’t grown up to comprehend, how even the worst things can happen to someone and that was what happened to  his sister, and he didn’t know what to do.

But he was trying.

That part hurt more than you expected.

—

A lot had happened outside your room, too much, and you caught pieces of it without trying, just voices from the TV when you passed through the living room, urgent, panicked reporters speaking over footage you couldn’t bring yourself to fully watch, 

Another Viltrumite, more destruction, more chaos, and more fighting.

A reporter’s voice, shaky and urgent, speaking over the distant sounds of chaos, helicopter blades, sirens, something collapsing in the background.

“And Invincible is currently engaged in-”

You always turned the TV off before you could see too much.

Before you could see him.

Because hearing his name was already too much, and just seeing his face might’ve broken you.

Nothing felt the same anymore, everything was… heavier and simple things became impossible tasks, getting out of bed felt like dragging your body through wet cement, eating felt pointless-food tasted like nothing, and it sat heavy in your stomach like something you didn’t want there, even drinking water felt like effort.

You used to love to eat food, but now your appetite was gone, and even you couldn’t help that.

More days would probably pass, and then eventually your period came, atleast the pills that you were popping into your mouth actually worked, and you should’ve felt happy, relieved, but all you felt was just nothing.

Your body moved, but it didn’t feel like yours, like you were just… existing inside it, detached, and sleep didn’t help, and sometimes you couldn’t sleep at all, just laid there staring at the ceiling, your mind running in circles you couldn’t escape, and when you did sleep-

You wished you hadn’t.

You’d wake up gasping, heart racing so hard it hurt, your sheets tangled around you like something trapping you in place, and the darkness of your room would press in, and for a split second-

You weren’t there.

You were back.

Hands that looked like his, voices that sounded like his, faces that were him but wrong, twisted, taking and taking and taking until there was nothing left of you.

Your breath would hitch, your body freezing as panic crawled up your spine, your skin burning like it remembered everything, you’d sit up abruptly, clutching at yourself desperately, grounding, trying to remind yourself that it was over.

That you were safe, but it never felt true.

Sometimes you cried, and sometimes you just sat there, shaking, too numb to even do that.

Another worst part was that showers weren’t safe anymore either, and they used to be, warm water, and quiet, a place where you could breathe finding respite, you would feel happy to shower after long errands or to feel clean, or even nice.

Now-you stood under the stream, your bare skin feeling the water drip on you, your arms wrapped around yourself, your head bowed as water poured over your skin, and you scrubbed.

Hard.

Over and over and over again, like if you just tried enough, you could get rid of it, get rid of the feeling, the memory, the touch, you didn’t mean, and your skin would turn red under your hands, raw from how harshly you rubbed, but it never felt like enough.

It never felt clean, your gaze stayed fixed on the white tiled floor, refusing to look at yourself, because you just couldn’t, you didn’t want to see what they touched, what you let happen, the thought made your stomach twist violently, and you wanted to throw up.

You’d curl in on yourself under the water, covering your chest, your arms, anything you could, because even though you were gone, you felt like someone was still there.

Like you were still exposed, even though you were alone.

You hadn’t really seen Mark, not since that day, and it wasn’t because he hadn’t tried, but it was because you didn’t let him, you avoided him, and on purpose.

Because you couldn’t face him, not after everything, not after what they did-what he did, even if it wasn’t him, it was versions of him, faces that looked like him, voices that sounded like him, and the worst part-the part that made you feel sick-was that somewhere deep inside, buried under fear and confusion and shame…

There had been a moment where you didn’t fight or even tried to, where you just froze, where  maybe some twisted part of your brain tried to make sense of it by clinging to familiarity because they looked like him, and you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t even bear to look at yourself in the mirror because you hated yourself so much it made your chest ache, how could you ever look him in the eyes again, and what would you even say?

I’m sorry?

I didn’t stop it.

There was a part of me that didn’t want to.

The thoughts spiraled until you couldn’t breathe, he should’ve left you alone, and that would’ve been easier, better, because he deserved better, but Mark, god Mark never left, even when you pushed him away, and even when you ignored him, you were sitting on the floor now, your back pressed against the side of your bed, your room dim except for the faint glow of your phone.

It was the only light, the only thing you’ve been staring at for… minutes? Hours? you couldn’t tell, your screen was filled with messages, all from him, some from other past days , and it was left unread, unanswered.

But you read them anyway.

Over and over again.

Mark: im sorry i was mia, i got really beaten up badly and i just woke up

Mark: im in the hospital, and i don’t see you

Mark: please talk to me

Mark: plese

Mark: please.

Mark: are you okay?

Mark: you haven’t been responding, and i’m worried about you, i’m really worried.

Mark: do you hate me?

Mark: please talk to me please

Mark: i miss you, i miss you so much im so sorry

Mark: im sorry 

Mark: please dont hate me

—

Your vision blurred, a tear slipped down your cheek, hitting the screen before you could stop it, then another, and another, your lips trembled as you tried to hold it in, your breathing uneven, shallow-but it didn’t work, you were falling apart.

A broken sound escaped you, you quickly brought a hand up to your mouth, stifling it, like you were afraid someone might hear, and your shoulders shook, the phone slipped slightly in your grasp as your grip faltered, your arms wrapping tightly around your knees as you curled into yourself, folding inward like you were trying to disappear, the messages stayed open.

Still there, still waiting, and just looking at it felt like it was taunting you cruelly, and you-you couldn’t answer, you couldn’t even type a single word, or give him an explanation or say anything.

Because you didn’t know how to exist in a world where he still cared about you like this.

Where he still wanted you, where he still said he missed you, a sob broke free, louder this time, cracking through the silence of your room, and it echoed, too loud.

Too real.

Your body trembled harder as the grief finally spilled over, everything you’d been holding back crashing down at once.

Tears soaked into your sleeves as you buried your face against your knees, your breath hitching with every broken inhale.

You cried until it hurt.

Until your chest burned.

Until it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

And still-

It didn’t make anything better.

And even though you pushed him away.

You wish he was here.

__

You felt the hours pass, you didn’t check the time and the phone’s screen eventually dimmed out to black as the device was on the floor beside you, your head still buried in your arms as you curled in onto yourself silently, your throat still felt raw from crying for the past hours well, maybe days.

You just felt so tired.

Tap. tap. tap

Your eyes blown wide, as you looked up slowly, at the window of your room, the familiar knocks that you wouldn’t hear anywhere else, from, you shakily stood up, and couldn’t move, for one second you felt fearful again, you knew who it was, the specific rhythm because only one person would tap like that, and it was always him.

You were home alone, your brother was at his friend's house for tonight, and it was just you.

But you knew deep inside it was him, it was your Mark.

__

Few days earlier.

Mark stared at his phone like it held all the answers he couldn’t find, the screen was dim, but the messages were still there, every single one he had sent you, stacked one after the other, unanswered, the read receipts were off, silence stretching between each attempt like something endless, his grip tightened slightly around the device,

Nothing, still nothing.

God he felt like absolute crap.

He sat on the edge of the hospital bed, one leg hanging off the side, the other stretched out stiffly, his arm was wrapped in thick bandages, bruises still fading across his skin, his body sore in ways that even his healing couldn’t fully erase yet.

The fight with Conquest had nearly killed him, and he could still feel it sometimes, the phantom pain where bone had cracked, where flesh had torn from side and his pained screams and his fists choking conquest’s throat, and then Eve came to help him, and almost died, his body remembered, even if it was already putting itself back together,

But none of it-none of it compared to the image burned into his mind.

You slumped in the alleyway looking broken inside, even if he wasn’t there when it took place, the vile image of you being pinned down on the floor, as they probably ripped down your clothes, forcing you to do whatever they wanted to do still etched itself into his brain, and then the way you looked in that hallway,  the way your eyes didn’t quite see anything.

The way your body trembled even when he touched you gently, like you were trying to hold yourself together and failing, it haunted him.

Because he couldn’t fix it, and all of this is because he couldn’t reach you in time.

Mark swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he stared down at his phone again, when he first woke up after the fight… it hadn’t been Eve on his mind, it had been you, and that realization alone had made something inside him twist painfully.

“Mark.”

Eve’s voice was soft, pulling him out of it, and he looked up at her, his expression tired-exhausted in a way that went beyond just physical injuries, but when his eyes met hers, he focused, really focused.

“…Yeah?” he replied, his voice rough, worn thin.

Eve shifted slightly where she stood, her arms loosely crossed, her brows knit together like she was choosing her words carefully.

“We need to talk.”

Mark’s stomach dropped slightly at the tone, he glanced down at his phone one last time before placing it beside him on the bed, his fingers lingering for a second before pulling away, and he didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to guess.

He just waited.

“I saw the way you looked at her,” Eve said gently.

Mark froze.

His eyes widened just a fraction, his lips parting like he was about to say something to maybe deny it, explain it, like it wasn’t what it looked like, but what could he even say?  

But Eve didn’t give him the chance.

“And I’m not mad at you,” she added quickly, her voice soft but steady. “You care about her. You’ve always cared about her. Even before all of this.” her gaze softened, but there was something heavy behind it, just… something final.

“I can’t compete with that.”

The words landed quietly, but they hit hard, and Eve gave him a small, sad smile.

Mark exhaled shakily, leaning forward as his elbows rested on his knees, and his hands came up to his head, fingers pressing into his forehead as if he could physically push away everything building up inside him.

“God… Eve, I-” His voice broke off, his eyes squeezing shut as his jaw clenched tight. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“I know,” Eve whispered, and there was no anger in her voice, no resentment, just understanding, and somehow, that made it worse.

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy.

“We can still be friends,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now. “That’s not gonna change.” and Mark looked up at her then, something fragile in his expression, relief, sadness, guilt, all tangled together.

“…Yeah,” he nodded, his voice softer.

They stayed like that for a second-just looking at each other, both knowing things had shifted, even if nothing had shattered completely, with a mutual understanding that they will still have each other's backs no matter what.

Then Eve spoke again.

“…Did she respond?”

Mark’s expression crumpled slightly, he let out a quiet, humorless huff, shaking his head as his gaze dropped.

“No,” he muttered. “She’s not answering.”

The words felt heavier out loud.

“I think she hates me.”

It came out quieter, smaller, like he didn’t fully believe it but was terrified it might be true, and Eve’s chest tightened at the sound of it.

“Mark…” she started gently, stepping a little closer. “She doesn’t hate you.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“She went through something horrible,” Eve continued, her voice steady but emotional. “Something no one should ever have to go through and those versions of you-”

She hesitated, her jaw tightening slightly.

“-they aren’t you, you didn’t do that.”

Mark’s hands clenched slightly in his lap.

“But she might not see it like that,” he said quietly, making Eve’s expression softened even more.

“Then you remind her,” she said. “Because right now? She’s probably alone, and scared, and blaming herself for things that were never her fault.”

Mark’s breath hitched slightly.

“And since we’re… not together anymore,” Eve added looking away, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips,  “if you want to do right by me…” She met his eyes, speaking again.

“She needs you, so go to her.”

Mark hesitated, and fear flickered across his face, real, raw fear.

“What if she doesn’t want to see me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, and Eve held his gaze.

“Then at least you tried,” she said softly. “But I don’t think she’ll hate you, Mark. I think she just doesn’t know how to face you right now.”

Mark swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to his hands for a moment before he slowly nodded.

“…Okay.”

It wasn’t confident, but it was enough. even if you pushed him away, and even if you refused to open that window, even if you told him to leave-

He had to try.

Because leaving you alone again?

That wasn’t something he could live with.

Not this time.

Not after everything.

And so

He went.

__

Now he’s outside that window, waiting for it to open and you were behind the glass, you didn’t move, you just stood there frozen in place, staring at the window like if you stayed still enough, quiet enough that he might think no one was home, that he’d give up, and that he’d leave, and Maybe he would leave, maybe you wouldn’t have to face him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound came again, a little more insistent this time, and your breath caught in your throat, he wasn’t leaving, of course he wasn’t, your feet moved before your mind could catch up, slow and unsteady as you padded across the floor, every step felt heavy, like something was dragging you back, like part of you was begging you to stop.

Your fingers hovered over the curtain, and for a moment, you couldn’t touch it, couldn’t bring yourself to see him… because seeing him meant facing everything you’d been running from, your hand trembled, and then-slowly-you pulled it open.

And there he was.

Mark.

Hovering just outside your window, his inky hair slightly disheveled, his suit gone, replaced with something more normal, more him, and a purple bruise darkened his cheek, another faint one along his jaw, and god he looked… tired, more worn down in a way you’d never seen before.

His eyes weren’t focused at first, like he’d been staring into nothing while he waited, then they found you, and everything in his expression changed, relief hit first sharp and immediate like just seeing you had been enough to steady something inside him, and then it cracked into something softer, something fragile

His pupils widened slightly as he really took you in, the way you looked, and the way you stood, and the way something in you wasn’t the same.

Your chest tightened, and you didn’t say anything.

You just reached for the latch, your fingers fumbling slightly before you managed to unlock it with a soft clink, the window creaked softly as you pushed it open, stepping back immediately, creating distance without even thinking about it, and Mark hesitated for only a second before climbing in slowly, carefully, like he was afraid any sudden movement might scare you off.

You turned away the moment his feet hit the floor, shutting the window behind him, and locking it,  anything to avoid looking at him, you walked further into your room, putting space between you and him, your back turned as your arms wrapped around yourself tightly, like you were holding something in.

Mark didn’t move at first.

He just stood there, and you could feel him there, watching you, and waves of relief still lingered faintly in his expression-you let him in, and you didn’t shut him out completely.

But underneath it-he looked shattered.

“What are you doing here?” you asked softly.

Your voice sounded empty, hollow, like it didn’t belong to you.

Mark flinched at it.

“I know I-I probably shouldn’t have just shown up like this, but I-” he started, his words stumbling over each other, his hands lifted slightly, then dropped, then clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I was worried,” he continued, his voice shaking. “You weren’t texting me, you weren’t answering and I-”

His breath hitched, “I didn’t know if you were okay.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

The words cracked halfway through, and a sob slipped out before you could stop it, your body folding in on itself as your arms tightened around your waist, like you were trying to keep everything inside from spilling out.

God, Mark saw it, the way you were shaking, and the way you couldn’t hold yourself together.

It wrecked him instantly.

“But-” he tried, his voice breaking, stepping forward just slightly-

You turned, and everything snapped.

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” you screamed, your voice tearing out of you raw and uneven, your eyes squeezed shut as tears spilled over. “YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE-JUST LEAVE!”

The room went still, and your words echoed harshly in the space between you.

Mark froze, his eyes widened instantly wounded,  completely, like you’d struck him.

You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face what you just said, because it wasn’t what you meant.

It wasn’t what you wanted.

Every part of you was screaming for him to stay-to not leave you alone again-but the words came out wrong, twisted, poisoned by everything you were feeling, and silence stretched, heavy, suffocating, and your breathing was uneven, shaky, the only sound in the room.

What is wrong with you?

You finally forced yourself to glance up, and Mark had stepped back, just slightly, but it was enough.

His expression-it hurt to look at, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out, his eyes were glassy, his gaze dropping to the floor like he couldn’t even hold himself together in front of you.

You expected anger, expected frustration, hurt turned sharp, something to confirm everything you already thought about yourself.

But instead-

“…Okay.”

His voice shattered on the word.

It was quiet, and wobbly, and completely broken.

Not angry, not defensive, just… defeated.

Your stomach dropped.

He turned slowly, actually turned away from you, and his hand reached for the window latch.

And suddenly-

You couldn’t breathe.

He was leaving.

Again.

And this time, it would be because of you.

“Wait-”

The word slipped out before you could stop it, small, fragile, barely there, but he heard it, of course he did, because Mark froze, and then slowly turned back toward you, and your vision blurred with tears, your brows drawn together as your lips trembled uncontrollably.

“I…” your voice broke immediately, your arms tightening around yourself as if you were trying to keep from falling apart. “I don’t want you to go…”

Your breath hitched.

“I don’t want to be alone-I…”

A sob tore out of you, cutting you off completely, your body shook violently now, the words dissolving into broken cries as everything you’d been holding back finally came crashing down, and your lungs struggled to keep up, each breath sharp and uneven, your chest aching from the force of it.

Mark’s eyes widened, he didn’t interrupt, didn’t move.

He just stood there, watching you unravel, his own expression crumbling as he took it in.

“I-” you tried again, your voice fractured beyond repair, “you should hate me…”

The words came out through sobs, barely understandable.

“I’m horrible… I’m so horrible-you shouldn’t even talk to me-”

That was it, Mark couldn’t take it anymore, he closed the distance in two quick steps, pulling you into him before you could even react, and your body collapsed into his instantly.

And you broke.

A wail ripped out of you-loud, painful, raw in a way that made his chest physically ache. Your hands clutched at his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as if you were afraid he might disappear.

Please don’t cry.

No please don’t. 

It hurts me.

Tears spilled from his eyes immediately, he hated seeing you cry, he hated seeing you like this. He hated seeing you suffer like this, you didn’t deserve it.

You deserve the whole world.

“Don’t say that,” His voice broke immediately, breath hitching hard. His arms wrapping tightly around you, one hand cradling the back of your head, pressing you gently into his chest. “Don’t-don’t ever say that, I would never hate you, not ever.”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t form words, all you could do was cry.

Your knees gave out beneath you, your body too weak to hold itself up anymore, and Mark followed you down without hesitation, kneeling with you on the cold floor, refusing to let go even for a second, he held you like you were something precious.

“I can’t-I can’t-” The words broke apart as they left you, uneven and frantic, you couldn’t stay still-your body trembled, restless and overwhelmed, like if you paused for even a second, everything inside you would shatter completely and you pushed weakly against his chest, breath hitching as sobs tore their way out of you.

But he didn’t let go, he’s not gonna let you go. His arms tightening around you like he was anchoring you in place, like he could keep you from slipping away if he just held on hard enough.

“Hey it’s okay,” Mark whispered, his voice fragile, almost breaking with you. “You don’t have to be strong, I’m here now… it’s okay.”

You shook in his arms, tears spilling faster than you could stop them, your face damp and flushed, everything inside you unraveling at once.

Your sobs didn’t stop, they came in waves-loud, uncontrollable, shaking your entire body as you buried your face against him, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I should-” you tried again between gasps for air, your voice barely holding together, “you don’t understand-”

Mark pulled back just enough to look at you, really look at you, and his hands came up to your face, gentle despite how much they trembled, his thumbs brushing away your tears even as more replaced them.

His eyes were red, filled with something so painfully soft it made your chest ache.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said immediately, his voice cracking. “None of it was, I should’ve been there-I should’ve-god, I’m going to regret that for the rest of my life-”

“It was.” Your voice cut through his, quiet, shattered, and Mark stilled, his expression faltered, a mix of confusion and devastation crossing his face. Why are you saying that? Why are you talking like that about yourself? “No-what-why…why are you saying that? It's not your fault.” Marks voice cracked, as he looked at you shocked.

Your gaze dropped, unable to meet his.

“I liked it.” The words barely made it out, but they hit like a punch, like ash on your tongue.

Mark froze, completely, you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to.

“When it happened…” your voice trembled violently, each word dragged out through sobs, “I didn’t stop it… because they looked like you…”

Your chest heaved, your breath breaking apart as tears streamed down your face.

“I could’ve fought harder! I should’ve-but I didn’t because I thought-” your voice collapsed into a sob, your body shaking harder, “I wanted it to be you…b-but it wasn’t-”

The room went silent, cold, and you waited, for him to pull away, for his hands to drop, for that look-the one you were terrified of, disgust, but it never came, instead-

You felt his hand moved ever so slowly, and carefully, cupping your cheek like you were something fragile.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and you didn’t want to, you just couldn’t, but something in his voice made you, and your eyes lifted hesitantly, meeting his, and what you saw-

It broke something in you all over again.

There was no anger, no disgust, just… pain, and care, he looked at you with so much care it hurt.

“You were scared,” he said softly. “Your body… it was trying to survive, that’s all that was, you didn’t choose that, you didn’t want that.”

His thumb brushed under your eye, catching your tears.

“They were stronger than you,” he continued, his voice unsteady. “They looked like me, sounded like me of course your brain got confused-that doesn’t make it your fault.”

You felt his thumb brushed another tear from your cheek, his warm palm cupping your jaw anchoring you to him.

“And that doesn’t mean you wanted it,” he added, his voice cracking slightly. “And that doesn’t make it your fault.” 

You stared at him, your vision blurred, your breathing uneven.

“They knew you couldn't have fought back,” he continued, his brows furrowing. “They took advantage of that. That’s on them, not you, never you.” and his arms pulled you closer to him, like any more distance would just tear him apart on the inside, “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I should’ve been-I should’ve-”

His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closing tightly like he couldn’t stand the thought.

“I won’t let anything like that happen to you again. I swear. Never again.”  he whispered, the promise trembling like it carried the weight of everything he couldn’t undo, because he couldn’t. You stayed there in his arms, holding on as if he were the only thing keeping you from breaking apart, you breathed him in, slow and unsteady, like you were trying to memorize the feeling-his warmth, his presence, the fragile safety of it.

Something inside you gave in then and you felt it, you softened, melting into him in a way that felt almost like surrender. He felt it the way you leaned closer, the way your grip tightened just slightly, like you were afraid that if you loosened it, he might disappear too.

“It's okay…we're okay.” he shakily murmured against your hair, his arms stayed wrapped around you, firm and almost desperate, like he believed that if he loosened his hold even slightly, you might slip away again.

And little by little, the storm inside you softened. Your breathing, once sharp and uneven, began to slow, each breath deeper than the last

But then… a thought crept in, him holding you like this? It wasn’t right, what about Eve? What would she think? You don't want to ruin things, not again.

You frowned, he felt your hands push against his chest, and he immediately listened, letting you pull yourself away, and you looked down, "What's wrong?” Mark asked softly, his hands still hovering around you but raised it down.

“…What about Eve?” you asked hoarsely, and his eyes widened slightly, and he paused for a moment the room held only the fragile hush of your breathing, his faltering as it mingled with yours, until he continued.

“We broke up,” he said quietly.

Your eyes widened, at the news were you the reason that happened? God no you didn’t want that, you didn’t mean- 

“…Are you okay?” you whispered.

He nodded faintly. “Yeah… it was-it was kind of inevitable.”

He hesitated, then looked at you, really looked at you, a frown on your lips and the way even now you’re still worried about him, despite the horrible things you just went through.

You were just so… god he loved you, he loved you and he needed to say that now.

Because he knew it wasn’t Eve, he shouldn’t have been so dumb and realized it sooner, when you were always there by his side despite everything, even when it all went wrong.

He loved you so much.

“Because what I felt…” he started, his voice shaking, “what I feel…”

He swallowed hard.

“It’s you.”

Your breath caught.

“It’s always been you,” he admitted, tears slipping down his face again. “I was just too stupid to see it. Or too scared to say anything.”

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest.

“I love you.” he breathed the word out, like it took almost everything out of him to say that.

The words were quiet, fragile but they carried everything and you stared at him, your eyes blown wide.

Shaking

Because this-this was everything you never thought you’d hear.

Everything you buried, everything you told yourself would never happen.

“And you don't have to say it back–you don't have to decide anything right now-” Mark shakily exhaled, closing his eyes shut in emotion, “but I just–” Mark began but you cut him off.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice trembling, and now Mark blinked, he stared at you, tears running down his cheeks and in slight shock, in that you chose to say those same words to him even now.

“You… you do?” Mark asked quietly, like the moment was so fragile, it would easily fade just like that.

A small, broken laugh left you.

“…since forever.”

Mark let out a shaky breath, something soft flickering across his face despite everything.

“I know, god I know…” Mark huffed out shakily, “that’s why I'm an idiot.” It wasn’t much-but it was enough, he heard it, a faint, fragile sound slipped out of you, something close to a laugh, though it wavered like it didn’t quite know how to exist yet, it surprised both of you. For a second, it felt out of place-too soft for all the hurt sitting between you.

But he caught it.

And it made something in him ease, just a little, a small, tired smile pulled at his lips, like he’d been holding his breath and finally let some of it go. If he could still make you laugh-even like this, even now, even if maybe things weren’t okay now, even though everything was falling apart.

At least he still had you, and you had him.

Silence settled over the room, heavy but no longer suffocating, his fingers moved slowly through your hair, careful, steady-like he was afraid even the smallest wrong movement might undo the fragile calm you’d found.

For a moment, it almost felt okay.

“Did you eat yet?” he whispered, his voice low, careful, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile calm you were both holding onto.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head to look at him, he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his hand still lingering near your cheek, like he wasn’t ready to let go completely.

Your legs were still tangled with his, knees brushing, his warmth seeping through your skin, you shook your head.

His expression changed immediately-his brows knitting together, concern flickering across his face. “I… couldn’t,” you admitted quietly looking down, your voice small. “I tried, I think I ate… oatmeal? But I just…I just…couldn’t.” the words felt heavier than they should have, like you were confessing something you shouldn’t have to, guilt twisted in your chest, that you couldn't stomach a meal

But Mark didn’t let it sit there, his hand came up gently, tilting your chin so you had to look at him soft, but firm, like he needed you to see him.

“That’s okay,” he said immediately, no hesitation, no judgment, just… understanding. “That’s okay.”

His thumb brushed lightly under your eye, catching a tear you didn’t even realize had slipped out.

“Do you want to try eating something now?” he asked softly. “I can make something small. Nothing heavy.”

You hesitated.

Your stomach twisted at the thought-but not entirely in a bad way. There was a faint ache there, something that felt like hunger buried under everything else.

Slowly, you nodded.

“Okay,” he murmured, almost to himself, like he was committing to it. “Okay.”

He shifted slightly, glancing at you like he was asking for permission without words.

“Can I help you up?”

Another nod.

He moved carefully, like you were fragile glass, his hands gentle as he helped guide you upright. Your legs wobbled the moment you tried to stand, your balance off-

-but he was already there.

Catching you.

Always catching you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered instinctively, his arm steady around you until you found your footing again.

He guided you to your bed, slow and patient, like there was no rush, like you had all the time in the world. You sat down on the edge, your body heavy, your movements sluggish.

Mark knelt in front of you instead of leaving right away.

Like he couldn’t bring himself to walk away just yet.

His eyes searched your face-really searched it, taking in every detail like he was memorizing you. The faint redness around your eyes, the exhaustion etched into your features, the way your lips pressed together like you were holding something back even now.

His brows furrowed slightly.

Then softly-he smiled.

It was small, tired but it was for you and you noticed.

You looked at him too, really looked, the bruise along his cheek. The faint shadows under his eyes. The exhaustion he tried to hide but couldn’t fully, he looked like he hadn’t slept like something was weighing on him, but when he looked at you-

It softened just a little.

“I’m going to go to the kitchen,” he said quietly. “Make some rice… maybe chicken, something simple.”

His voice stayed gentle, like he was afraid to break the moment.

“And when I’m done, I’ll come right back. Okay?”

You nodded, your eyes still glassy, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

His hand came up one last time, brushing through your hair softly, lingering just a second longer than necessary-like he didn’t want to let go, then he stood, and left.

The moment he disappeared from the doorway, the quiet crept back in, too fast, and too sharp, your chest tightened almost immediately, your hands curled into themselves as you stared down at them, your breathing picking up without your permission.

He left.

No-no, he didn’t leave… he said he’d come back.

He said he would, your thoughts scrambled, panic flickering under your skin as your breaths turned uneven, you forced yourself to inhale.

Slow.

Shaky.

Then exhale.

Again.

He’s still here.

He’s in the house.

He’s coming back.

You repeated it over and over in your head, clinging to it like a lifeline, your breathing gradually steadied, slowly, just a little, the silence didn’t feel as crushing now, because it wasn’t empty.

Not really, you could hear it, faintly from the kitchen, the soft clatter of utensils, cutting, and the quiet hum of the stove turning on, the subtle rhythm of movement-him moving around, doing something normal, something grounded.

Then-

A faint sound, Mark humming, soft under his breath, almost absentminded.

It made something in your chest loosen, and the smell followed not long after, warm, comforting.

The smell of garlic hitting the pan first-sharp but familiar, then onion, the sweetness slowly blooming as it cooked, maybe something else-maybe butter, maybe oil-rich and grounding. Spices you couldn’t quite name layered in, subtle but there and you sat there, unmoving.

Just… listening, just… breathing, and time passed strangely again you glanced at the clock on the wall, your vision a little clearer now.

Twenty minutes, you hadn’t even realized that you’d just been staring, thinking, trying not to think but the weight in your chest felt… lighter.

Not gone… just… less.

And then you heard it.

The stove clicked off, the small, distinct sound carried through the quiet, more movement, a cabinet opening, the faint pop of a rice cooker.

Then footsteps slow and careful.

You looked up and your eyes locked on the doorway, waiting, searching-

And then he was there.

Mark.

Standing in the frame, a bowl in his hands, steam rising faintly from it and his gaze found you instantly, soft and steady, like he hadn’t stopped thinking about you for a second.

He walked in slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you, you didn’t look away.

Not even for a second, he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed, the warmth of him returning instantly, he placed the bowl gently into your hands.

Rice.

Chicken.

Golden, slightly crisped at the edges, coated in something that smelled rich and savory. Bits of garlic clung to it, small flecks of green basil leaves, maybe resting on top.

A spoon was already tucked into the side.

“You… you didn’t have to…” you murmured, your voice soft, your fingers tightening slightly around the bowl.

Guilt crept in again.

But Mark shook his head immediately.

“I want to,” he said, cutting you off gentler this time, but firm. “Just… let me do this, okay?” and he held your gaze, serious in that way he only got when it really mattered and after a second, you nodded. His shoulders eased a little, and his hands dropped to his lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he tried to steady himself, before continuing.

“I used what you had,” he added, a little more unsure now. “I hope it’s… okay.” and you glanced at him, then back at the food, then slowly you took a bite.

The warmth spread immediately, the feeling of soft rice, tender chicken, garlic, buttery and rich, balanced with something lighter lemon, maybe, and onion sweetness lingering underneath, a subtle hint of spice that wasn’t overwhelming, it melted on your tongue.

It was simple but it was good, really good.

Your throat tightened.

“Its… really good,” you said quietly.

And you meant it, you took another bite, and another, your appetite wasn’t fully there-but it was something, more than before, more than you’d had in days.

Mark exhaled softly beside you, relief flickering across his face.

“Good,” he murmured.

He didn’t look away, not once, he just watched you eat, like it mattered, like you mattered.

You glanced at him, raising a brow slightly.

“What?” he asked, a little caught off guard, and… you pouted faintly, the smallest hint of something lighter slipping through.

“So you’re just gonna watch me eat like it’s some kind of nature documentary?”

Mark blinked, then slowly he smiled.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I could.” and you huffed a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking your head slightly as you took another bite.

“I could watch you all day,” he added without thinking.

The words slipped out so naturally it almost startled both of you, but they lingered warm, and you smiled-small, but real and you kept eating.

Halfway through the bowl now, that alone felt like an accomplishment and your body felt warmer, heavier in a good way, but as you swallowed your next bite-

You glanced at him again and this time-

His smile had faded, just slightly like something else had taken its place, something quieter, something heavier, and his eyes weren’t just watching anymore, they were… searching.

Like he was trying to make sure you were really there.

Like he was still afraid you might slip away the moment he looked away, and amongst other things you couldn’t exactly read, but he looked like he had something to say but yet couldn’t.

“Something on your mind?” you quietly asked as the bowl now settled in your hands, the steam no longer rising like before.

His lips parted slightly-like he was about to say something but then he stopped himself. His gaze flickered away for a second, something uncertain passing through his expression, something heavier than before.

“You’re not…” he started, and then he hesitated again and you waited, patient, and still looked at him  waiting for him to finish.

Your eyes stayed on him, steady, even as your chest tightened slightly, wondering what he was trying to ask, Mark swallowed, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt again, like he needed something to ground himself.

“…you’re not pregnant, right?”

The words came out quieter than expected, careful, like he was afraid of the answer, and for a second, the question just hung there.

Then you shook your head gently, your gaze dropping back down to the bowl in your hands.

“No,” you murmured. “I um… got my period. I think? maybe last week?” you thought about it for a second, trying to place the days together, everything still blurred and messy in your mind, but only because you couldn’t bring yourself to think about it.

“Oh.” 

Relief washed over his face so visibly it almost hurt to see it. His shoulders dropped slightly, tension easing from them, like something that had been sitting on his chest finally lifted.

“Okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, and his eyes closed for just a second and when he opened them again, they were softer.

You couldn’t help but a small smile tugged at your lips at the reaction, faint and fleeting, but real.

Silence settled between you again but it wasn’t as heavy as before just… quiet.

You took another bite, slower this time, the food not as warm but still comforting anyway, and Mark’s presence beside you filled the space in a way that made the silence feel less suffocating or less scary to bear.

He exhaled again, this time quieter.

“I was… worried,” he admitted after a moment, his voice was low, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should say it out loud and you glanced at him.

He was staring down at his hands now.

“I didn’t know if they-if something-” He stopped, his throat tightening, his fingers curling into his palms like he was trying to physically stop the thought and your chest ached.

“I didn’t know what happened after I left,” he finished quietly, the words hung there heavy.

You swallowed, your appetite faltering slightly but you forced yourself to take another bite anyway, forced yourself to stay grounded.

“They gave me something,” you murmured. “At the hospital. For… prevention.”

Your voice softened toward the end, like even saying it out loud made your stomach twist.

Mark nodded quickly.

“Good,” he said, almost too fast. “That’s-that’s good.”

But his voice cracked anyway.

Because nothing about this was good.

Silence settled again but this time it wasn’t as suffocating just… quiet, you took another small bite, slower now, Mark looked back at you and then away again, like something was still weighing on him.

“I should’ve been there.”

The words came out suddenly, low and rough and you paused, still looking at him. Mark’s jaw tightened slightly, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.

“I keep thinking about it,” he continued, his voice strained. “Like… if I had just gotten there sooner, or if I hadn’t been distracted, or if I-”

He cut himself off, his hands clenching.

“They…they wouldn’t have touched you,” he finished, quieter now. “None of that would’ve happened.” You shook your head immediately, your brows knitting together.

“Mark-”

“But it did,” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he looked at you again. “And I wasn’t there.”

His hands clenched tighter.

“And I should’ve stayed, I  shouldn’t have left you like that,” he continued, his voice rougher now, heavier with guilt. “I keep thinking about it-like if I just stayed a little longer, or if I-”

“You couldn’t,” you said gently, your brows pulling together. “There were people who needed you.” “But you needed me too,” he shot back immediately, and the words came out sharper than he meant them to but they cracked at the end, breaking under the weight of everything he was feeling.

“And I wasn’t there,” he added, quieter now. “I left you when you needed me the most.” guilt bled through every syllable.

You shook your head, your expression breaking slightly but you still try to hold yourself steady, for both of you.

 “I told you to go.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, silence stretched again.

His eyes were glassy again, “I’m supposed to protect people,” he continued, frustration slipping in under the guilt. “That's-that's what I do! and I couldn’t even protect you.”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“It is.”

“No, it’s not.”

Your voice was firmer this time not gentle but solid and steady, even if it trembled and he looked at you, startled slightly.

“You didn’t know,” you said softly. “You weren’t there, you couldn’t have known, you can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t even know was happening.”

Mark shook his head, like he didn’t believe it.

“But I should’ve,” he muttered.

“You can’t be everywhere,” you uttered out.

“I’m supposed to try.”

“And you do,” you replied quietly. “You always do.”

He went still, your grip on the bowl tightened slightly as you continued, your voice softer now.

“You came back,” you added. “You’re here now.” and that seemed to hit him differently.

His expression shifted-something fragile flickering across it.

“I almost left again,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “When you told me to go…”

Your chest tightened.

“I thought-” he swallowed hard, “I thought that was it… that you didn’t want me anymore.” It sounded so small and broken, and god, your eyes stung.

“I didn’t mean it,” you said quickly, your voice cracking. “I just-I didn’t know what to do. Everything felt… wrong and you being there-it reminded me and I-”

You stopped, your breath uneven.

“I didn’t want you to leave,” you finished, quieter now.

Mark’s shoulders dropped slightly.

“I wasn’t going to,” he said immediately. “Even if you told me to.”

You glanced at him.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

There was no hesitation.

“I would’ve stayed outside your window all night if I had to,” he added, a faint, tired smile tugging at his lips. “I wasn’t leaving again, not like that.”

Your throat tightened and you looked back down at the bowl, your appetite slowing again but not gone, just quieter.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you said after a moment. “You don’t have to fix me.”

Mark frowned slightly.

“I want to help,” he said.

“I know,” you replied softly. “And… you are.”

You hesitated, then added-

“Just by being here with me.”

That seemed to settle something in him.

Not completely.

But enough.

He nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said.

You both fell quiet again.

But this time-

It wasn’t empty, wasn’t heavy in the same way, it felt… shared.

Your shoulder brushed his as you shifted slightly, still holding the bowl, still eating little by little, and Mark stayed right there beside you, a steady constant, you were still trying to take a few more bites even though your appetite had already started to fade again.

You tried, that counted for something but eventually, your hand slowed, the spoon hovering before lowering back into the rice. You glanced at the half-finished bowl, then at him and before you could say anything, Mark gently took it from your hands, a soft sound of protest slipped out of you instinctively, your fingers tightening for a second before letting go.

“I got it,” he murmured, his voice low and reassuring and you frowned faintly, a small pout forming despite yourself.

“I can do it myself, y’know,” you muttered, your voice quieter now. “I’m not glass.”

Mark’s expression softened immediately, but there was something firm behind it too. “I know,” he said gently. “I know you’re not.”

He paused, then added softer-

“But I want you to rest so just this once, let me do it.”

There was no pushiness in his tone, just quiet insistence, the kind that didn’t feel controlling-just… caring, and you huffed lightly under your breath, but there wasn’t any real resistance behind it because you already knew he wouldn’t budge and honestly you didn’t mind.

“Fine,” you mumbled.

Mark smiled faintly at that, almost to himself, like he counted it as a win.

“I’ll be right back.”

And then he was gone again the room felt different now, still quiet-but not as heavy, not as suffocating and you sat there for a moment, staring at nothing in particular, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve before you slowly stood up, your body still felt tired, weak in a way that wasn’t just physical.

But… lighter than before just a little.

You made your way to the bathroom, your steps slow but steady and the light flicked on, a bit too bright at first…but you adjusted and you went through the motions, brushing your teeth, the mint toothpaste was sharp, grounding, and washing your face, the cool water helping clear some of the heaviness clinging to your skin, you hesitated for a moment when you caught your reflection-

But you didn’t linger, you couldn’t not yet, instead, you reached for your brush, ran it slowly through your hair, one stroke then another.

It felt… normal, simple like something you used to do without thinking and that alone made your chest tighten just a little, you finished quietly, drying your hands, taking a breath before stepping back out only because you knew-if you didn’t, Mark would notice.

He always did and he’d worry, also because you’d know Mark would press you if you skipped brushing, you’d get cavities and all that stuff.

You returned to your room, the soft glow of the dim light welcoming you back and without much thought, you slipped under your blankets, letting out a quiet sigh as your body sank into the mattress.

It felt… nice to just lay down, to not feel like you had to be upright, holding yourself together, and you stared at the ceiling for a moment, your breathing slow, listening from the kitchen, the faint sound of running water, the clattering of dishes.

Mark, still there, still moving and still here, it grounded you.

Then, after a little while-

The water shut off, silence again and you hear gradual footsteps that followed.

Soft, familiar and getting closer.

Your eyes shifted to the doorway just as he appeared, and Mark stood there, looking at you, really looking at you, and his gaze softened instantly when he saw you in bed, less tense, less curled into yourself like before, he stayed there for a second longer than necessary, like he was making sure you were still real.

You tilted your head slightly, peeking out from under the blankets.

“Are you just gonna keep staring at me?” you murmured, a faint tease in your voice. “You’ve been doing that for like… hours.”

Mark blinked, then let out a small, sheepish smile.

“What? I can’t look at you?” he shot back lightly.

You hid your face a little deeper into the blanket, your eyes still on him.

“I don’t mind,” you admitted softly, that made his smile linger a bit longer, but then-something shifted, his expression grew more thoughtful, his arms crossing loosely as he glanced around the room, then back at you.

“…I should probably let you sleep,” he said quietly. “I can take the couch-”

“Stay.”

The word came out before you could overthink it, and Mark paused, his eyes widened just slightly.

“Lay here with me.”

There was a small silence.

“Are you sure?” he asked gently. “There’s the couch, I don’t want to-”

“Mark Grayson.”

He stilled, you said his full name, your voice wasn’t harsh, just… certain and you looked at him, your eyes softer now, something vulnerable sitting just beneath the surface.

“Please.”

The word came out quieter, fragile, and you looked away for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly in the blanket.

“I just… don’t want to be alone.”

That did it, Mark’s hesitation melted almost instantly and he nodded.

“Okay.”

Soft.

Immediate.

He moved toward the bed slowly, like he was still giving you space to change your mind if you wanted to, you scooted over slightly, making room for him without a word.

The mattress dipped as he climbed in beside you, and the warmth of him returned instantly, and the smell of laundry too, comforting to you and familiar.

But still there was space between you, a small gap and neither of you moved at first, you just lay there, facing each other in the dim light, quiet settling over you again.

But this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was… waiting, and your eyes traced his face for a moment, the tiredness, the softness, the way he looked at you like you were something he didn’t want to lose, he always looked at you that way.

Your chest tightened.

And before you could second-guess it-

You moved, just a little, and instantly his arms opened, like instinct, like he’d been waiting for it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you closed the distance, slipping into his arms, your body fitting against his like it belonged there and he held you.

Carefully, with one arm wrapped around your back, the other resting gently against your head, pulling you just close enough without overwhelming you, like he was making sure you knew-

You could leave if you needed to, but he wasn’t going anywhere, your face pressed lightly against his chest, your breathing slowly syncing with his, steady, even, and safe.

His hand moved again, brushing softly through your hair over and over, gentle, consistent, you felt it then, not gone, not fixed but quieter, the fear, the noise in your head.

The ache in your chest, all of it… softened, just a little.

You hummed softly, your body sinking further into him as his fingertips threaded gently through your hair and the motion was slow, absentminded like he wasn’t even thinking about it, just doing it because it felt right.

Because you were there, you shifted closer without realizing, pressing into his warmth, your breathing evening out just a little more with every second and your eyelids fluttered, heavy, fighting to stay open.

Mark noticed, he always noticed.

He adjusted slightly beneath you, careful-so careful not to jostle you, one hand instinctively tightening around you just enough to keep you grounded, so you can feel that he’s there next to you. 

“You should sleep,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, warm against your hair, it took a second but you shook your head faintly, a quiet sigh slipping past your lips.

“I know I should…” you murmured, your words slow, tired. “…but I don’t wanna.” there was no resistance in it, just fear, small, quiet and lingering.

Mark exhaled softly, his chest rising beneath your cheek, his hand stilled for a moment before he gently guided you back just a little just enough so he could see your face.

Not far, never far, your body stayed close to his, your hand still curled loosely into his shirt, like you needed something to hold onto.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, you know that.” he said gently, his voice wasn’t rushed, wasn’t trying to convince you, it was certain like a promise he’d already decided he’d keep, no matter what, you nodded slowly, “I know…” you whispered but your lips pulled into a small frown anyway, your eyes dropping, your fingers tightening slightly in his shirt, he didn’t rush you, didn’t interrupt.

He just watched you, waiting the way he always did-quietly, patiently, like he’d sit there all night if that’s what you needed.

“It’s just…” your voice wavered, your breath catching slightly. “…I don’t wanna fall asleep and… sometimes I’m just scared I won’t see you.” the words came out smaller than you intended, more vulnerable and your gaze stayed down, unable to meet his.

For a second, everything stilled then-

“Hey.”

His voice was softer now, closer.

“Look at me.”

You hesitated then slowly lifted your eyes, and he was already looking at you, he always was.

Even in the dim room, you can still make out Mark’s features, there was still tiredness there, dark circles, the faint strain of everything he’d been through but it was lighter now, softer.

Because of you, he smiled not big, not forced, just enough to reach his eyes.

“I’m gonna be here when you wake up,” he said quietly. “Right here.” His thumb brushed gently along your cheek, grounding you.

“I’ll probably be annoyingly close too,” he added, a hint of warmth slipping into his tone. “Like… right next to you when you’re brushing your teeth, making sure you actually do it properly.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound small but real.

“And I’ll be there when you’re doing your hair,” he continued, nudging your nose lightly with his finger, you scrunched your face a little.

“I don’t know if I’d trust you with that,” you mumbled, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Mark gasped softly, feigning offense. “Hey, my mom taught me some things,” he said, a playful edge creeping in. “Don’t underestimate the Graysons.” another quiet giggle slipped out of you, and his smile widened just a little more at the sound, like it meant everything.

“And…I’ll be here,” he went on, his voice softening again, his voice dropping, gentler now “Next to you. In this bed.” his hand came back to your hair, brushing through it slowly.

“I’ll hold you like this… if you want.” 

You stilled slightly.

“I’ll make you food when you can’t,” he continued gently. “Sit with you while you eat, talk your ear off about stupid stuff, even when you don’t feel like talking back.”

Your eyes fluttered, your body relaxing further into him.

“I’ll stay,” he whispered. “Through all of it.”

There was a quiet pause, and you felt it, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

“And if you let me…” he added softly, almost hesitant, “…I’ll kiss you good morning, every time.”

Your breath hitched just slightly not in fear, but in something softer, something warm, because the world he was painting, it was so simple, so normal, and so ordinary, just you and him no chaos, no fear, no fighting, just… existing together.

Your eyes grew heavier and your grip on his shirt loosened just a little.

Sleep was creeping in, slow and inevitable, exhaustion finally catching up to you.

But this time-it didn’t feel as terrifying because he was right there, and he meant it.

“I’m right here,” Mark murmured again, quieter now, his voice blending into something soothing, almost like a lullaby. “You don’t have to stay awake anymore.” your eyes fluttered closed.

Your body melted fully into his, your breathing evening out as the tension slowly left your muscles and just before you drifted-

You felt it.

A soft, lingering kiss pressed gently to your forehead.

Mark’s arms tightened around you just slightly, holding you steady as you finally let go.

And for the first time in days

You fell asleep without fear, right into his arms. **

You didn’t mean to wake up, not really but your eyes fluttered open anyway and the heaviness of sleep clung to your bones, though… you felt slightly more rested than before, now you lay there, staring at the ceiling. The room was darker now… and you realized it must have gotten later in the night.

How long have you slept? you let out a soft sigh.

You slowly sat up on the mattress, its faint creak breaking the silence, that’s when you felt it, the warmth beside you, you weren’t alone, he was right here and you just felt calm.

That he was here despite everything.

Carefully, you turned your head and there he was.

You looked at Mark, his tousled black hair falling across his face and his features softened by sleep, he looked peaceful, like he hadn’t rested in far too long, younger, somehow and the sight made your chest ache.

Then you felt him move.

 it was as if some part of him, even in sleep, had felt your absence, beside you, he stirred, lifting just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze didn’t ask outright, but it searched you soft, uncertain, quietly trying to understand what lingered on your mind.

You turned your head, your shoulder brushing his.

And the feeling, that feeling of need and desire settled deeply within you, like something that had always been there, just waiting to be felt again. It rose gently, steady and undeniable, until it reached your lips before you could stop it, slipping out in a soft breath you hadn’t meant to release.

“Touch me,” you breathed, a needy look etched onto your expression.

Even in the darkness, you could feel the shift in him, his eyes widened slightly, his breath catching.

“Are you sure-” Mark whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of it, the question wasn’t just about now-it was about everything that had happened before this moment.

You nodded, slow and certain.

“But… isn’t it too soon-” he started, the words tumbling out before you gently took his hand, threading your fingers through his rough, calloused ones, he went still, staring at you, brows drawn tight, his expression full of something deeper than hesitation.

“I’m okay, Mark.” Your voice was soft, but steady enough, you looked up at him, then away, your eyes dropping nervously as your heart pounded against your ribs realizing what you were asking for, as you swallowed before continuing, your words fragile but honest.

“I wanted my first time to… be with you. I’ve thought about it before…dreamed about it.” Your voice trembled slightly, but you pushed through it. “And I want it to be you. I really do.”

He didn’t answer right away, he just looked at you, searching your face as if trying to make sure you understood what you were offering-what it meant, and then he exhaled softly, lifting his hand to cup your jaw, his touch careful, almost reverent.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, barely above a whisper, and you nodded, a small movement, but full of meaning, your eyes met his, steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest, your gaze fixed on his, there was longing there, but also something deeper-because you needed him, trusted him, and now it didn’t seem so scary.

Something in his expression broke open then-not sadness, not quite sadness-something deeper, quieter, like he couldn’t believe you were choosing him, even now, even after everything.

 After everything, you were still choosing him.

“Okay… okay,” Mark whispered, his forehead resting against yours-a quiet habit he never seemed to notice, but one that always drew him closer to you, as he held your hands gently, grounding himself as much as you.

“But if it gets too much,” he added softly, “you tell me, alright?”

You nodded once more, and he just looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, and you felt his warm breath fan against your cheek, and you stared at him realizing what was gonna happen, what you both were going to do, and you didn’t feel scared, the warmth was coiling in your belly, and it was a pleasant feeling along with the anticipation that was gonna happen, unlike that horrible time when it was taken from you, you were giving it instead.

To the man you wanted it with. “Come here,” Mark whispered so gently, you shyly looked at him, and then moved.

Your knees dipped into the mattress as you straddled his lap, and you felt his arms immediately wrapped around to stabilize your hips, and you lowered yourself slowly, now gazing down at him in this position, his brown eyes met yours, looking up with such tenderness, while a faint pink dusted your cheeks. “Mark…” you murmured, your pupils darting over his face,  your gaze locked on him as if he were the only thing keeping you together-and in that moment, he was, he looked back at you with quiet tenderness, noticing the tremor in your body, as his brows drew together in concern as his hand found yours, thumb tracing slow, gentle circles against your skin, grounding you with every touch.

He leaned forward gradually, his forehead touching yours, and you both paused, simply staring into each other, like it was just you and him in the world, and nothing else could come between that.

“It’s okay,” he breathed out, and you found yourself getting lost in those warm brown swirls, and then he leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours, and his lips paused before it met yours. His tongue slipped inside, drawing a soft moan from you as your eyes fluttered shut, his hands moved to splay across your back, holding you steady while he kissed you deeply, passionately, feeling him pour all of his love to you.

The kiss stretched on endlessly, his mouth devouring yours in a way that felt utterly divine, a heat bloomed in your belly, and you felt yourself growing wet with arousal, and you lost yourself in his comforting, clean laundry scent, his skin, his lips that were so soft, you moaned helplessly and it just spurred him on.

You moaned into the kisses, little sounds escaping your lips, his tongue dove deeper, exploring your mouth, the wet muscle sliding against yours, like this where he belonged  before he finally pulled away, breathing heavily, his eyes half lidded staring intensely into you,  you softly panted, your lips tingling, and your heart hammering, his lips moved to kiss your cheek, and you blinked.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, and you nodded, and god, he was so unbearably gentle with you and treating you with such, such care, you felt so safe like nothing is going to hurt you, and you really did feel safe, and his breath ghosted over your neck as he kissed it softly.

“Can I?” he asked, his arm now splayed across your stomach, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt lightly, always making sure you were comfortable, that this was what you wanted and you reluctantly nodded again, he slowly tugged the shirt off, the shirt was hunched near your shoulders before being tossed somewhere on the bed, leaving you bare from the waist up and he just stared.

He gazed at you deliberately, his eyes tracing over your body, and you looked away nervously, not knowing what he was thinking but the words left his lips. “So beautiful,” his voice trembled with emotion, and you blushed shyly as his hands moved to your shorts ever so slowly, like you both had all the time in the world, he tugged them off while you were still sprawled in his lap, then his other hand hooked into the waistband of your cotton underwear, sliding them down, it pooled between your thighs, his fingers hovered faintly brushing your skin, it reached your ankles,  until you were completely naked before him and you felt his hands explore your skin with the lightest touch, and your breath hitched.

Before he could explore further, you gently nudged him which knocked him out of a trance, of just admiring how beautiful you were, you always were beautiful to him. “Yours too.” You smiled a bit bashfully, and he looked at himself and let out a small laugh, quiet and it rumbled through your chest. Your hands moved to help take his shirt off, and he let you do it, his shirt fell somewhere in the bed lost and you just stared at his broad chest, his muscles peaking and his abs, and little bit of scars that were still healing, just proof of how hard working he was, him saving people and just fighting to protect the world, you felt awe, and your it tugged at your heart.

Your hand drifted to his chest, settling over the steady rhythm of his heart, and he stilled beneath your touch, eyes dropping to where your fingers rested, then lifting to meet yours.

Slowly, almost carefully, his hand rose to cover yours, his fingers threading through as if he didn’t want to lose the feeling of you there and he held it for a breath, maybe two, the moment stretching, charged and quiet then, reluctantly, he guided your hand down to your side, and then he gently turned you around your back against his chest, your legs spreading more wider on his thighs, and now you face the wall, feeling him behind you.

 His hands continued to explore gently and you felt his fingers slowly trail down, from your breast, over your stomach, his touch was so soft, then his hand neared your  ribcage, his fingers tracing the bone gently before sliding higher, over the swell of your breast, to the nipple.

Until his fingers were over the nipple of your breast. He didn’t grab, he rubbed. Softly. His thumb circled the soft bud, applying a gentle, persistent pressure and you cried out softly, you shook a little before his hands anchored you to him, always.

You softly cried out. The sensation was so good and you were getting a bit teary, you shouldn’t be, not really, but you couldn’t help it, because his touches were so gentle, and it wasn’t like the rough hands that had pulled you apart harshly, like you were nothing, a body to be used, he treated you with such care, like glass, like you were important, like you were everything.

It felt intense, the emotional weight of his tenderness was as potent as the physical stimulation. And he knew that. His lips moved from your neck, trailing wet kisses along your jawline, murmuring sweet words directly into your skin.

Tears slipped a little out of your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming feeling of it all-the dual sensation of his fingers pulling and rolling the soft, sensitive bud of your nipple, and the warm, wet pressure of his mouth on your neck. It was too much goodness, your body didn’t know how to process it except to overflow.

The intensity built, and he sensed it, his lips trailing wet kisses along your neck while murmuring that it’s okay, you’re safe, he’s right here, and his mouth moved to suckle at your pulse point, and a few tears slipped from your eyes amid the dual pleasure of his fingers pinching and rolling the soft bud.

“Ahh..mnn…” you cried softly, the sound broken, wet, your eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated, staring at nothing but the sensation of the pleasure he was giving you, and the wetness gathering between your thighs was a tangible reality now, a slick warmth you could feel against your own skin, against the fabric of his trousers, you couldn't help but squirm, and Mark held you there. “You’re doing so good baby, it’s okay, shh...” Mark murmured against your neck, the soft pet name he called you, slipped out his lips unexpectedly made you feel more warmer inside, his voice sending vibrations through your skin, his words still trying to soothe your soft cries and you nodded shakily, as he coaxed more whimpers and hitched moans out of you, you felt his fingers slowly trail downward lower gliding over the skin of your stomach and resting near your inner thigh, until they were at your sacred part.

You froze slightly at his touch, and he stopped immediately, his eyes locking onto yours with concern. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled quietly, and he shook his head. “No, it’s okay, I’ll keep going when you’re ready, okay?” Mark whispered, and you nodded shakily, trying to relax, he kissed your neck again as his fingers stilled against your folds.

“Breathe, baby, it’s okay, ‘m right here,” Mark murmured in your ear, his lips brushing your lobe and you slowly nodded, closing your eyes, your lips parted as his fingers began to move gently circling  the nub in a rhythmic, circling motion drawing a whimper, he gathered your slickness on his fingertips and used it to rub the sensitive nub, and you shut your eyes letting out a sob, the pleasure was so overwhelming and so different from before.

“Mark-” you let out, tears slipping down your cheeks as you sobbed, you felt his lips press against your skin, kissing the tears away while his fingers continued to rub your clit firmly, your name leave his lips, his other fingers kept twirling your nipple, pinching it lightly. You panted heavily now, your lips parted open, your breath coming in short, hot gusts. Your eyes were lost in a haze behind your closed lids, the pulses of pleasure he was sending through you was overwhelming, he was bringing you slowly to your peak. “Doing so good, baby girl, so good for me,” he cooed softly in your ear, and your back arched slightly against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut with tears clumping your lashes.

“Mark… it feels good,” you uttered breathlessly, your voice breaking into a small hiccup, you just felt so sensitive, but he was right there holding you, never letting you go. He meant it.

“I know, I know, I’m right here,” Mark whispered, his finger still rubbing your clit in steady circles. Your face tilted slightly, brushing against his chin, and he looked down at you. “C-could you…?” you trailed off shakily, and Mark eased the pressure on your clit but kept his hand there, focusing on you to let you speak, he nodded slowly, showing he was listening.

“Put your fingers inside?” you finished, and Mark nodded, kissing your cheek, and kissed your cheek again, a soft press of lips. “Anything for you, baby.”

And then he moved. His finger, which had been circling your clitoris, slid lower. It pressed at your entrance,  slowly plunging his finger into your pussy, you whimpered at the feeling of being filled by him and he slid it in and out with deliberate slowness, watching your face closely.

You whimpered at the sensation of being filled. It was a different feeling, deeper, you felt the stretch as he slid it in, to the knuckle, and then out, your lips were pulled into an ‘o’, your brows furrowed not in pain but in intense concentration on the feeling, your breaths came in ragged pants, your hands clutching at his arm for support as he added a second finger, stretching you deliciously, he curled them upward, hitting that spot deep inside that made your eyes roll back slightly.

You sighed in relief as he finger-fucked you, his pace steady but picking up just a bit. The wet sounds of his fingers slipping out before it pummeled inside again  filled the air.

You just moaned helplessly, your head falling back against his shoulder, your body yielding completely to his ministrations and god, you felt like you were gonna come. The tension was a tight coil in your lower abdomen, a gathering storm of sensation that was begging for release. “M-Mark, I’m-” you whimpered, and Mark groaned at your soft noises, his hardness pressing against the curve of your back.

“Come for me, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Mark’s breath hitched as  his eyes fluttered shut,  his voice shaky as he urged you on, your pleasure feeling like it was also his, your sounds turned high-pitched and soft so desperate, and you felt your pussy clench tightly around his fingers before the orgasm crashed over you, waves of sensation rippled through your body as you came, panting heavily. He kissed your neck again, pulling your back flush against him. “That’s right, that’s my girl,” Mark whispered, so proud of you, his praises washing over you like a warm tide. You smiled shakily, your eyes half-lidded in bliss.

“So perfect,” Mark murmured, his lips brushing wetly near your earlobe, sending shivers racing down your spine, your eyes were half-lidded and dazed, the world narrowing to the heat of his body pressed against yours, his hands rubbed soothing circles over your belly, fingers tracing lazy patterns that made your skin tingle with anticipation, he gently eased you back onto the bed, your spine sinking into the soft comforters, a fresh wave of wetness trickled down your inner thighs, warm and insistent, your gaze glossy with raw need as you watched him.

He met your eyes, holding that intense connection for a moment that stretched eternally, then captured your lips in a deep kiss, his mouth moved with deliberate slowness, sucking softly on your tongue, drawing out a soft whimper from deep in your throat, he broke the kiss reluctantly, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there. Each press of his lips ignited sparks, making your pulse thunder in your ears. He continued downward, his breath ghosting over your collarbone, then your chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around one nipple before moving on. The path led to your stomach, where he lingered, kissing the soft curve of your belly, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks.

Finally, he reached your inner thighs, his lips pressing feather-light kisses along the trembling flesh. He parted your legs wider with careful hands, exposing you fully to him. His face nestled between them, close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath against your core, his arms wrapped firmly around your thighs, drawing you closer until your hips lifted slightly off the bed. You looked down at him, heart pounding, and his gaze locked onto yours-hungry, yet filled with such tenderness it made your chest ache.

“Relax, baby. Just let go, ’s all you have to do for me,” he murmured huskily, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you, you nodded tremulously, biting your lip as nerves and desire twisted together inside you. Then, without warning, his tongue licked a long, wet stripe along your pussy lips, from the bottom all the way up to your clit. The sensation was electric, a jolt that made your back arch sharply off the mattress. Your eyes fluttered shut, tears welling up from the overwhelming intensity, spilling in a steady stream down your cheeks while sobs wracked your body.

He didn't stop, flattening his tongue against you, devouring your cunt with sweet, gentle insistence. He lapped at your folds, tasting every inch, his movements slow and reverent as if worshiping you. “Ah…” you sobbed, the sound raw and broken, feeling the wet muscle push inside you, he thrust it deep, exploring your walls with careful flicks, then pulled back to circle your clit lightly. The tip of his tongue danced over the swollen nub, teasing it until it throbbed under his attention. Before you could catch your breath, he drew it fully into his mouth, sucking with tender pressure that felt like fire in your veins.

Your soft moans and whimpers filled the room, mingling with the wet sounds of his mouth on you. Mark maintained a gentle rhythm, his tongue traveling up to circle your clit again, pressing firmer this time, then thrusting deep again into your folds. He slid out with deliberate slowness, letting you feel every inch of the withdrawal, only to plunge back in. His free hand stroked your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to ground you, while the other held your hip steady.

Mark’s hips bucked against the bedsheets he couldn’t help it. His cock throbbed painfully hard, straining against the fabric, leaking pre-cum as he watched you-so beautiful, crying out for him like you needed him more than air. The sight of your tears, the way your body trembled under his touch, it drove him wild. God, you were his everything, and he poured that love into every lick, every suck, and you felt it, his love.

Your whimpers grew higher, more desperate as he dove in deeper, his tongue flicking insistently against your swollen nub, he alternated between broad strokes that covered your entire pussy and precise flicks that targeted your clit, building the pressure layer by layer. More frantic moans and hiccuping sobs escaped your lips, your head twisting into the pillows as you clutched at them desperately. He groaned low against your pussy, the vibration sending shocks through your core, making your toes curl. His tongue kept thrusting desperately in and out of your slick entrance, mimicking the rhythm he craved to fuck you with, but holding back, savoring this moment of pure devotion.

“M-Mark…” you sobbed, tears sliding from your temples, your legs quivering uncontrollably around his head. He hummed in response, the sound buzzing against your sensitive skin, and tightened his grip on your thighs. Mark pulled your hips flush to his mouth, grinding you against his face as his tongue slid free only to plant a wet, sloppy kiss right on your pussy. He licked his lips, tasting you, before latching back onto your clit, sucking with renewed focus. His teeth grazed it ever so lightly, adding an edge of sensation that made you gasp.

“You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good,” Mark muttered tenderly, his voice a sweet, dripping saccharine that hummed through your core. He spoke the words right against your folds, his breath hot and ragged, pushing you closer to the edge with every syllable. The words vibrated against your skin, resonating deep inside where pleasure coiled tighter, you felt it, he slipped two fingers alongside his tongue now, pushing them into your entrance slowly, curling them to stroke that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

Your body responded eagerly, walls clenching around his fingers as he pumped them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your clit. The obscene wet sounds of his mouth working your pussy echoed loudly in the room, the sounds of slick suction and your cries. More sobs and hiccups poured from you as your hands fisted the sheets, knuckles white from the strain. Mark’s hand crept up to your hip, his fingers intertwining with yours in a tight clasp that anchored you amid the storm, he squeezed your hand, a silent promise telling you I'm here, I've got you.

The intimacy of that touch, combined with the relentless assault on your clit shattered any remaining control. Your orgasm slowly built like a white-hot wave, pleasure coiling tight and fierce in your belly, spreading outward in tingling waves. You shook immensely, eyes squeezed shut, every muscle tensing as the peak approached. Mark sensed it, his movements growing more insistent-he sucked harder on your clit, fingers thrusting faster, twisting inside you to hit that perfect angle over and over.

“Mark, I’m…” you sobbed, voice breaking into a keen as the edge loomed. He pulled back just enough to whisper against your folds, his lips brushing your skin, “Come for me, baby. Let it all out.” his words were the final push, and you did-the orgasm crashed over you in a blinding rush, a sharp cry tore from your throat as you gripped his hand like a lifeline, your body convulsing in powerful spasms, your pussy clenched around his fingers, gushing wetness that he lapped up eagerly, the overstimulation causing your hips to twitch just a little

He didn't stop immediately, easing you through it with softer licks and gentle sucks, drawing out every aftershock until you were a trembling, sobbing mess. Your legs shook around him, thighs slick with your arousal and his saliva. Finally, as the intensity faded to a warm glow, Mark peppered gentle kisses along your trembling thighs, up to your hip, then your belly. He withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean while watching you with eyes soft with adoration. He moved, his face was closer to yours again, tilting slightly to look at you, and just to be more close to you.

“You feel okay?” Mark whispered gently, the words barely more than a breath against your lips, you nodded, the motion small and shaky, your eyes were pooling with tears. “‘m sorry,” you whimpered, you tried to look away, embarrassed by just how much you have been crying the whole night, but he shifted his head, keeping his face lined perfectly in your vision, as if you looked away for one second, he couldn’t bear that.

His brows furrowed slightly, in a gentle confusion at the apology that just left your lips.  “I don’t know why I'm crying so much,” you admitted with a shaky, tear-clogged laugh, your face felt damp and your eyes stung, and a flush of embarrassment warmed your skin. 

Mark’s expression never shifted into judgment. It was so full of understanding and tenderness. “Don’t apologize baby, it’s okay to cry,” he whispered, his voice was a low, steady murmur, he was on top of you, one arm cradling behind your back, the other now drifting to rub your cheek with the pad of his thumb wiping away a tear.

“You let all of that out for me okay? Do not hold that back, never.”

You didn’t say anything, you just stared at him, letting the words sink in, then, a soft, “Okay,” escaped your lips, so quiet, that no one would hear, but only you and him. And you both just stayed there. His touch centered you in ways you couldn’t completely articulate, your breathing slowed, matching the calm, deep rhythm of his and you felt his hot breath fan against your cheek and he leaned in, capturing your lips in one more kiss, a gentle press that tasted of salt and care, then he leaned away, just enough to see your whole face, see you.

“Ready?” Mark whispered.

You nodded, more firmly this time, and the nervousness was still there, a low hum in your belly, but it faded, the feeling bubbled in you with a thread of anticipation, the need for him.

You heard the sounds of fabric shifting, his pants and boxers, already discarded sometime in the blur of earlier moments, were out of the way. You felt him move, a slow, deliberate movement of his body over yours and his hands found your hips, palming them gently and he tugged your hips toward him.

And you felt it.

The hard, hot length of his erection brushed against your inner thigh and you hadn’t really looked before, but now you did. He was hard, fully, achingly hard, the tip of his cock was slightly red, flushed with blood and need, and you saw a bead of clear pre-cum glistening at the slit. He was… big. Thick and the sight made your heart flutter slightly.

His hand left your hip to palm his own cock, giving it a slow, firm rub and you watched his fingers curl around the base, then he lined the slick tip against your entrance and the heat of him there, at your very core.

“You okay?” Mark’s voice lulled you back to his eyes. He was watching you, feeling the nervousness radiate from your expression.

You swallowed, your mouth dry. “Yeah… you’re just kind of big…” you mumbled, the blush painting your cheeks again and you looked up at him timidly after saying that.

He smiled slightly, a small, understanding curve of his lips. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he told you, his voice soft and soothing, like honey, you nodded again, the motion slow, absorbing his reassurance.

“You tell me if it gets too much. I’m right here, always.” His voice was soothing and low, and steady, and just him reassuring you like that, and just knowing he was gonna be right here, you felt a sense of calm rush over you.

You nodded, a final surrender, that this is okay, and that you trusted him, and he felt that and he will give you everything because you’re letting him, he will love you tonight. His hips shifted more closer, the swollen tip of him pressed firmly against your slick entrance, a point of heat and pressure.

“I’m gonna push okay,” Mark murmured and you gave him the okay with your eyes, with your body relaxing beneath him.

And then he pushed.

The first penetration was slow, and hot, you felt the tip enter, penetrating the first wet, tight ring of muscle, the stretch was immediate. A slight, sharp pinch of pain that made your breath catch. You let out a faint noise-gasp, a whimper of discomfort and your eyes shut tight, squeezing against the sensation.

You felt him press further in, slowly, feeling his thick cock enter further in, the stretch deepened, and you felt so full. “Mark-” you let out, the name a sob, a plea.

He was right there by your side, you felt him lean further, his chest pressing fully against yours, his warmth enveloping you and you wrapped your arms around his broad back, holding him tightly. “It’s okay baby, I know,” he muttered quietly. His voice cracked slightly, brimming with emotion and his eyes, when you dared to open them a little, were gazing down at you, pools of brown liquid concern. You whimpered, fresh tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. It felt too much, too overwhelming.

“You’re doin’ so good, just breathe. I’m right here.”

You tried, shakily, you drew a breath in, then let it out, focusing on him and the feel of his chest against yours, and he continued, slowly, patiently, entering you, inch by inch and then, finally, his hips bottomed out.

He was in, to the hilt, so deep, so big.

You let out a sharp gasp, a sound of pure shock, your body tried to adjust, to accommodate him. He didn’t move, he held himself perfectly still, you opened your eyes fully, looking at him. His eyes were a little teary, mirroring your own and you felt his nose brush yours. 

His hips were stilled, his throbbing cock was inside you, a hot wire of sensation and you could feel every pulse, every subtle twitch.

“You took all of me. God, you did so good.” Mark’s voice was full of emotion, thick with pride and awe. He murmured and repeated it as he kissed your cheeks, your jaw, everywhere he could reach. 

He kissed your tears away, his lips soft and worshipful against your skin, you let out a shaky sigh, the initial burn beginning to slowly lessen, to soften into something else.

“Tell me when to move, okay?” He kissed your ear, and you nodded against his face, your cheek rubbing against his and he just sat there and he  waited, his cock twitched again inside your entrance, a reminder of his need, his restraint.

You felt so full, and slowly the slight, sharp burn slowly, gradually, dissolved. It didn’t vanish, but it blurred, mingling with a new sensation-a deep pressure that was… good, and now it was feeling really good.

You moaned slightly, a soft sound. Your eyes grew glassy, your lips parted and your hips, almost moved a little. A tiny grind against him, seeking more of that pressure, and he felt it.

He groaned, a deep sound from his chest. The vibration echoed through you.

“You can move. Please,” you let out, the words so soft and needy.

Mark nodded, his expression shifting into focused tenderness, his hips moved.

He pulled back slowly, you felt his tip slide almost all the way out, a sudden, empty sensation that made you gasp then he slid back in, a gentle thrust, you moaned again, louder this time. 

And his hips began moving.

He established a rhythm, it was languid, smooth, patient. His thrusts were slow but firm, the wet slickness made each movement smooth, a quiet, wet sound echoing softly in the room and you cried out, a needier sound now. 

The feeling was so immense, it wasn’t like anything you felt before or earlier, he filled you so deeper, so more completely, than his fingers ever could. Your toes curled slightly against the sheets as he kept snapping his hips, with each deliberate thrust.

The room filled with the sounds of you, your soft moans, your breathy cries mixed with his grunts, each one punctuating a thrust.

You whimpered out, a broken sound, tears slid again, pooling at your temples, your vision blurred as his cock slid out with ease and then pummeled back in, gentle and deep. You felt his balls, a soft, heavy tap against your wet folds on each stroke. Mark groaned, looking down at you, and his look was intense, full of an emotion, and tenderness that it hurt.

He whispered in your ear, words you couldn’t fully hear, you just couldn’t think straight, you couldn’t hear it, just the sounds of him fucking you was what you focused on. “Mhmm…” you let out a half-response, your eyes rolling back a little as another deep thrust hit the spongy spot. The pleasure was building, a warm coil tightening in your lower belly.

More wet slickness gushed out, soaking the sheets beneath you and he fucked you into the mattress, his arms were cradled around your head, one hand supporting your neck, the other tangled in your hair and you wrapped around him tightly, your face buried in the hot, salty skin of his neck, letting out soft sobs that were now purely pleasure, and just feeling overwhelmed.

As he kept thrusting, you let it all out, just like he told you to, the sensation of him making love to you was so intense, so different. It felt like what it should have felt like in the first place, before it was cruelly taken from you. The thought flashed, bittersweet, but it was washed away by just physical feeling, feeling him. You pulled your face from his neck, needing to see him, to look at him.

He could look at you now.

“Baby,” Mark let out, his expression cracked open, raw with love and tenderness, your lips were parted, panting. His hips still moved, that gentle, relentless rhythm, never taking but giving.

“Ma-rk… it feels so good…” you cried out, the words torn from you, tears fell freely from your face like a stream. You looked wrecked-hair messy, face flushed and wet but your expression held a lewd, helpless haze and your eyes were wide, pupils dilated, swimming in pleasure. You kept sobbing, but the sobs were now mixed with gasps and moans.

And you felt Mark’s tears drip onto your cheeks, his brows furrowed in overwhelming emotion. He leaned down, shoving his tongue into your mouth and the kiss was deep, wet, consuming. He swallowed your moans and sobs, his hips moving with a slightly faster pace now, always gentle, but with more urgency, a building need.

His arms wrapped around you tighter, one hand cradling your head, the other moving to grip your hip and you slowly felt a warm, tightening feeling in your belly, a coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter, the pleasure swept over your body in waves, each thrust sending a new ripple through you.

Your pussy tightly clenched around his cock and he felt it. His thrusts became slightly sloppier, less perfectly measured, he was getting there, too, the edge approaching for him. But he held on. You could feel him holding back but he wanted to continue, wanted to feel you more. He wanted to make you come first.

His lips pulled away from yours, a wet string of saliva connecting your mouths for a second before breaking and you stared at him, helpless, breathless. He stared at you, his eyes loving, devouring. His hips snapped continuously, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out now a familiar, addictive rhythm.

“Mark…I love you.”

The words left your lips, spoken from a place so deep and true, it felt like it was deep within your soul, that you meant it, you stared at him, the desperate emotion in your gaze

It was like your words spurred him on. God. Mark let out a shaky breath, a sound of pure, overwhelmed feeling and his pace continued, fucking you a bit faster now. The bed began to creak softly in the room, a protest to the increasing force.

“God… fuck… I love you too, baby… so so much… fuck-” Mark let out a string of curses, his hips snapping faster and you cried out, the increased pace sending sharper bolts of pleasure through you.

“Sorry baby-” he let out a frantic apology, but his thrusts became a bit firmer, a bit deeper. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you feel like you were his thoroughly and completely and you just sobbed, the pleasure building into a rising tide in your stomach, your orgasm was coming, slow and then suddenly fast, a wave gathering force.

“I’ll always love you… so much, always-” Mark exhaled, each word punctuating a thrust, a promise driven into you with his body, of how much you meant to him.

You let out high-pitched moans, sounds you didn’t recognize as your own and you felt it approaching, your pussy clenched around him like a vise, a desperate, needy grip, as if you needed him inside you to survive.

“Mark… I-” you wailed, your vision blurring but you still tried to focus on him, on his face above you.

“I’m gonna cum…” you let out a soft whimper, your hips wrapping around him tightly, your legs locking at his waist, just to keep him in, to keep this feeling, 

“Come for me, I’ve got you.” Mark murmured, barely above a whisper, like the words were meant for you to hear only.

You nodded, a frantic, small motion and his thrusts became more erratic, less controlled, driven by the need to take you there, to push you over that final edge and Mark felt himself almost about to come too, and the realization hit him-

His hips slowed, just a fraction, a hesitation.

“W-Where do you want me to-” Mark whispered, the question hanging in the hot air between you.

You pulled him in tightly, your arms locking around his back, your body arching into him. “Come in me… please.” you let out the words so raw, full with primal need.

Mark’s eyes widened slightly, a flash of surprise, to what you were asking, what it means. “Are you sure-”

You nodded fast, your body already trembling on the peak. “Yes… yes… please… I need you, please-” you begged, the words a continuous stream of need.

Mark let out a curse under his breath, a sound of surrender, you gripped onto him tight, and his hips, which had stilled for that crucial second, continued their thrusts again now with a final, abandoned urgency.

And you came.

It shattered through you, a breaking wave of pure, blinding release and you moaned, a sound so beautifully and tearfully loud it filled the room, your eyes fluttered shut as you let out a broken, shattering sob, because it felt so good, so so good, so perfect. You felt it, your juices, your release, coating his cock in a hot, slick flood.

He kept thrusting into your sensitive walls, each movement sending aftershocks of pleasure through your shaking hips, and you melted feeling limp and boneless into the bed.

You whimpered, the overstimulation bordering on too much, he leaned down, forehead pressing to yours, breaths mingling as he thrust steadily, each push a promise, he murmured sweet words of how perfect you were against your lips, not kissing, just hovering there.

Mark didn't stop, couldn't stop, not after you said that, wanted that-he drove into you relentlessly, his cock plunging out only to thrust back in your wet folds, each thrust dragging out the aftershocks that made your thighs quiver uncontrollably. he angled his hips to hit that spot deep inside, making you cry out and arch despite the exhaustion.

Finally, his hips gave one final thrust, his balls slapped against your folds, and you felt him still-

“Oh…” Mark let out, shakily, his own control finally snapping.

His eyes rolled back slightly, the look of pure ecstasy crossing his face, He buried his face in your neck, his lips pressing against your pulse point and you felt it.

the first pulse of his release, his cock swelling impossibly thicker inside you before erupting. the thick, warm ropes of his cum, filling your folds, coating your insides. It was a hot, urgent flood, his cum spilled into you, filling your pussy, and the excess dripped out, slicking your inner thighs and into the sheets.

You sighed, a sound of profound relief, of completion, and he held you tightly, his whole body trembling against yours, his lips on your neck, whispering words you couldn’t hear but felt as vibrations against your skin, and you just collapsed into him, feeling the bed swallow you.

You were exhausted, but in a good way.

 Before you knew it, his cock slid out of your entrance and you felt his cum slightly leak in the sheets and your lips curved into a dazed smile as Mark pressed a soft kiss to your neck. He lingered for a moment before pulling away, shifting his weight and settling beside you, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of aching tenderness.

“You okay?”

A deep warmth filled your chest, almost an ache, but a gentle one, because it wasn’t just the question but it was how he always asked, how he always checked in, no matter what. You felt cared for you felt seen.

“Mhmm…” you murmured, smiling faintly, blinking sleepily as the last traces of tears dried on your cheeks. Mark couldn’t help but smile, you looked so soft, so pretty like this.

He let out a quiet chuckle and sat up, and as he did, your eyes followed him instinctively, searching, they always did but he didn’t go far. A warm blanket settled over you, then over him, and moments later the mattress dipped as he slipped back beside you, gathering you into his arms once more and you melted into him, getting lost in his gaze all over again.

Just you and him, tucked away in the warmth of the bed, a small pocket of the world where everything felt, for once, okay-where reality could wait.

Where he was just Mark, and you were just you.

“I love you,” you whispered, the three words slipping out again, soft but certain, your eyes searching his brown swirls.

“And I love you,” he replied just as quietly.

He pulled you closer, his nose brushing yours before his lips met yours again, slow, lingering, full of something deep and steady, when he finally pulled back, you stayed wrapped around each other, breathing in sync, the quiet of the room settling around you.

Just him. Just you, the warmth of his arms, the rise of his chest as he breathes.

And it felt right, so right, like it’s where you were meant to be all along.

With him, figuring things out, which you both would.

Even if things weren’t okay now, even when  there will be horrible days, throughout all of it you got him and he’s got you.

 And for the first time in a while, you felt lighter.

[nearlytrue]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ᴀᴅᴍɪʀᴇʀ ── part one ৴৴ 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤstalker! izuku midoriya x reader ── .✦ university au!

౨ৎ tw / cw (18+); yandere-implied izuku, law student! izuku, possibly ooc izuku, dry-humping, fingering, face-fucking, missionary, use of panties as a blindfold, praise-kink, piss-kink, alcohol & drug use, invasion of privacy, reader has a v, reader has a twt acc, violence [if some tags don't show up in this part, it will be in the next part]

౨ৎ synopsis; izuku midoriya, a motivated law student, all too known for an unshakable moral compass and a charmingly personality, tries to pry into your life.

꒰ care to note, this part is very like internal monologue, though...the next part i fear...oough prepare... part two here!

౨ৎ wc; 21k

"oh," izuku hummed out, amused as he soaked in the layout of your twitter blog. his eyes scanned the cute cat profile picture, smiling tenderly at your bio. it was nothing explicit — to be honest, there was nothing about it that seemed relatively interesting.

there was nothing about the account that indicated it could've been you; no trace, no sign, nothing about an age, or a name. he scrolled absentmindedly through your account, singing a quiet melody to himself, absorbing the person you were, the stuff that made you happy, the stuff that made you sad, little quiet blogs of your day that no one cared about. this was you blended into the internet without a care in the world.

his attention flickered to the tabs of your profile, noticing your likes were public. this was great for him! he could know actually what you liked, your interests, the content that you indulged in. maybe from there, he could slowly bleed into your life...

with a fast tap of his thumb, the page loaded almost instantly. izuku propped a pillow behind his neck, arm supporting his tussled hair as he began binging your likes.

you liked romance anime, that was cute. shounen, specifically. it was a undeniable observation that you loved other people’s daily rants, stories of nonsense, ‘am i the asshole’ stories that you’d find on reddit — all posted and liked within a timeline of 3-days.

izuku scrolled further down, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. something warm swelled in his chest from being able to digest parts of you like this. in a way, this was intimate to him, never would he have been able to know you like this just from your instagram posts alone. he’d have to pay hitoshi extra for this, simply just for gratitude, of course.

as he further swiped, the content began changing, bit by bit.

“f—fuck, right there!”

izuku’s eyes widened, quickly turning down the volume on his phone. heat bloomed across his freckled cheeks at the video, eyes dazed as his focus trained on the explicit movement on his screen: a close up shot of a man fucking into a woman, pussy making obscene slick sounds as she moaned.

“the fuck?” izuku frowned, scrolling further, only to come across a plethora of porn, all taken with a similar low quality resolution — all liked by you.

he didn’t want to pry further, all he wanted was to see what you were interested in, the things you liked, stuff that he could use to his advantage to merge into your life — not this.

but he couldn’t stop. the videos were filthy, majority of the short clips consisting of some form of explosive cumming from the male. so, you had a little breeding kink? that wasn't something he was sure he liked; besides, he didn't want kids yet.

he scrolled further, a faint tent growing in his sweats. it wasn't the porn that turned him on, it was the fact that you were leaving yourself bare and open for him, openly liking these filthy pornos, probably getting off to these, knowing you don't even have a man to recreate these with. he wondered if you touched yourself to these, did you like having your fingers inside of you? or were you the type to stimulate your clit. he thinks the latter.

his face turned into a grimace at a particular video that caught his eye. piss. golden shower. the first video was of a woman opening her mouth, lips spluttering as she drowned in piss, gurgling with a sweet smile on her face. the next was of a woman pissing on her partner mid cowgirl.

eurgh... to be honest, this was disgusting. izuku felt his cock soften at the videos, quickly swiping out off twitter — he'd seen enough. he stared up at his ceiling, eyes moving to watch the fan, an unchanging heat simmering in his chest.

his thoughts of you didn't change. how could they? you were this sweet thing he's had his eye on ever since bumping into you at the art club, so what if you got a little piss and breeding kink? maybe he could accommodate, or if that didn't work, maybe he could fix the way you thought — get rid of that porn addiction you obviously have. yeah! that sounds like a good idea, and in a way, he'd be saving you.

happy with his decision, he set his alarm for the next morning, snuggling in his sheets with a grin on his face. he knew exactly what to do, and how to make it work — how to make you fall for him.

𐙚

in the art room, you sat snugly in your leather seat, eyes eager as you drew in your sketchbook of some of your favorite fictional characters. the room was quiet, dust particles floating in the air, sunlight beaming through the glass windows and onto your skin.

for as long as you could remember, you loved drawing, painting, sketching, you name it. the feeling of graphite smooth on the underside of your palm, imagination coming to life on grained paper, brought something pleasant in your chest. it was a gateway from of your stressful academic life.

"that's a nice drawing," a gentle voice hummed out from behind you.

you almost flinch from the sound, instinctively covering your sketches with your arms. the page crumples a bit, bending at the corners as you turn to look at the voice.

oh, just your luck.

of course it had to be the cute law student, izuku midoriya.

you closed the notebook completely, leaning your chest over the cover, mustering a kind smile in an attempt to cover up the heat creeping up your neck. embarrassment twisted in your chest.

it’s childish, he shouldn’t see this.

you've seen him a couple times around here, nose buried in his note-book, scribbling notes no one's ever seen before. he was pretty popular around here, always bringing friends over, using the art room as a third-space. you and him have never talked before, but, you always noticed him. how could you not?

izuku was the law student everyone seemed to like without trying. he was soft-spoken, unfailingly kind with a voice that sounded like honey on toast, and eyes that always lingered like he was really listening.

he carried that boyish warmth in his features — gentle unruly curls, an expression that softened easily — balanced by his more mature features. a sharper jawline, a scar drawing down the right side of his cheek that wondered where he'd got it from, quiet confidence settling into the angles of his face, making him… distracting in a way you tried not to think about.

he was unfairly very nice to look at. you knew you never had a chance with him, so you never really thought about it.

you’d heard he’d recently received some sort of recognition award from the dean, mentioned in passing during lectures and whispered about in the halls, though he never brought it up himself. he didn’t seem like the type to.

izuku took a step back, moving into the chair swiftly beside you. "sorry, i didn't mean to scare you," he said, syllables practically dripping with honey, tone quiet and measured. "i just noticed you sketching some anime. i also like anime, too."

you scratched the nape of your neck awkwardly, arm still guarded on top of the cover. "y—yeah, it's nothing, though. just saw something like it the other day, so..." your lips thinned into a tight line, something panicked swarming in your chest. "i don't really know that much about anime so..."

izuku's lips curled upwards, leaning against his palm as he saw through your lie, noticing the undeniable blush on your cheeks. "if you don't mind, can i please look at your drawings? i won't judge," he asked, gesturing to the protected notebook as if he was testing his luck. "promise."

you paused, eyes drifting somewhere else in the room. suddenly the dried and crusty paintbrushes, brittle from misuse looked interesting.

you thought about his words, fingers trembling as you slowly pried the book open. it didn't take much convincing for you to nudge your book towards him, your pinky remaining secured on the edge of the page. "sure...yeah, yeah you can."

izuku shuffled his chair closer to yours, shoulders faintly brushing as angling his head so he could inspect you sketchbook. "thank you."

oh god.

he smelt so nice, especially up close. you almost felt as if you've just been winded.

the air around him hung with something masculine, warm, woody. you tried replaying to his words, but all you could think about was how pleasant he smelt, and the way he was practically invading your senses.

izuku waited for a fraction of a second for your response. seeing that you weren't going to say anything, his eyes narrowed onto your drawings, fingers thoughtful as he traced each sketch.

his eyes fell on a sketch of two characters kissing, thoughtful as he noticed a more intimate, vivid sketch below — a saliva string connected by two heated tongues.

"oh! um, please ignore that," you stammered out, face deepening a shade of red. a familiar twist of shame nestled in your chest as you resisted the urge to cover your face with your hands, wishing to melt into your seat and disappear.

izuku laughed, thoughtful as he turned to page to calm you down. "don't be embarrassed, it's really detailed. i like this detail here," he pointed at a fresh page which included a plethora of suggestive hand sketches. "these hand drawings are really good, mind me asking what they're meant to be doing?"

"i don't really know," you mumbled, pulling the sketchbook away already. you hadn't realized how explicit your sketches were until someone else was seeing it.

"seems pretty intimate," he commented, letting you close the cover once more. "i'm sorry, i hope you aren't embarrassed — there's nothing wrong with the content of your drawings at all. i hope you know that."

you nodded, chin tucked downwards as a feeble attempt to avoid his kind gaze. "i'm sorry i can't show you more."

izuku leaned back against the chair, observing you with understanding eyes. "okay, that's alright. i just want you to know that you're a very talented artist."

you turned to him, eyes still partially drawn away from his. "do you really mean that?"

"yeah, of course," izuku replied. "does it seem like i'm lying to you, y/n?"

your movements paused, hands stilling on the wooden table. "y—you know my name?"

izuku chuckled at your shock, his laugh warm against the quiet. "of course i know your name, y/n. you're always around here."

with an awkward laugh, "oh, that makes a lot of sense."

"my name's izuku midoriya, just if you were wondering as well," he added in quickly, hand reaching out.

of course you knew who izuku was. but you weren't surprised by his humbleness.

after staring at his hand for a while, you reached forward, your sweaty palms connecting with his calloused one — the contact so light and feathery. izuku, upon noticing the stiffness in your shoulders, adjusted immediately, loosening his grip.

“Izuku,” you repeat quietly to yourself, as if the name was something new.

he smiles at the sound of his name, small and careful. when he speaks again, it’s even softer, measured like he’s choosing each word with intention.

“...i really hope you didn't think i was judging you,” he says gently.

your shoulders sink a fraction, tension easing out of you in a way you hadn’t noticed was there. you look down at your sketchbook, thumb worrying at the bent corner of the page.

“i always feel like… if someone sees it, they’ll think it’s weird,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “or immature, or something.”

Izuku hums — quiet, understanding. he doesn’t contradict you right away, doesn’t rush to fix the feeling.

“i don’t think that at all,” he says eventually, voice low and reassuring. “didn't i tell you before i like anime? i wouldn't lie.”

you glance up at him, caught off guard by how certain he sounds—still soft, still gentle, but anchored. his expression is open, kind, unbelievely charming.

“just thought you were pretty cool, is all,” he adds quietly, almost like a vow, “I won’t ask you to show me anything you don’t want to.”

the words settle deep in your chest, warm and steady. that was the first time the two of you had properly talked.

the following days were filled with izuku popping by the art room. he didn’t hover invasively around you, solely maintaining a gentle greeting every now and then.

you’d nod curtly, passing him a quiet smile as your gaze followed his back down the sand-stone hallways — light filtering onto his curly hair.

you drew a little sketch of him absentmindedly, eyebrows fixed as you tried envisioning him from your last interaction. it wasn’t meant to be anything stalkerish or obsessive, it was just something that popped into your mind one day!

with your bottom lip tucked beneath your teeth, you carefully outlined the angle of his jawline, moving to draw his kind eyes. when you were done, you held your sketchbook back, analyzing the sketch from a distance, only to frown in response.

he looked insanely off here. was it the eyes? his nose maybe? or did you draw his lips too low.

“woah, my brows are pretty thin in this.”

“oh—omphh!” you scooted in your chair, almost sending yourself into an accident. “i—it’s not…if’s not what it looks like, i’m really sorry, i can rub it out if you feel uncomfortable, i swear!”

izuku’s intrigued eyes softened at the tremble in your lip, the way your hands began to shake as you reached for an eraser.

“hey hey hey, it’s okay,” he whispered out, hands reaching to pry to sketchbook back open. “may i look?”

your heart slowed in jagged rhythms, the remnants of your shock lingering as soft thumps patted against your ribs. you nodded, choking out a short response. “of course… go ahead.”

izuku eagerly pulled out the chair from beside you, plopping his bag beside him on the floor. the thump was relatively loud against the marble — an obvious indication of the volume of textbooks in his bag.

he leaned close, giving enough room for proximity. “you make me look pretty in these,” he commented thoughtfully, fingers drifting to trace the faint graphite where you’d erased and redrawn.

your face heated, a wobbly smile making it hard to even speak at all. “ah, really? heh.”

“yeah! i look really charming here,” he smiled as he pointed to another sketch at the corner of the page. “goodness, you’re incredible.”

his praise sent a shiver down your spine, sending heated waves across your chest. “i…i just drew what you looked like.”

izuku smirked to himself before it was quickly neutralized by surprise. “well then… i must be pretty then, is that right?”

you remained silent, eyes fixed on the sketch before you, mustering half a nod.

izuku noticed immediately.

izuku let out a quiet, thoughtful hum. “hey,” he said softly, leaning just a little closer. “you’re okay, right?”

you nodded again, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the page. “yeah. i just… didn’t expect you to see it.”

“mmm.” his smile was small, reassuring. “i kind of figured.”

you glanced up at him, startled. “you did?”

“a little,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “you get that look when you’re nervous, not that hard to tell.”

your heart squeezed at how easily he noticed.

he looked back down at the sketchbook, eyes gentle. “i really like these though,” he said, voice calm but sincere. “i'm kinda flattered.”

“i'm glad,” you murmured. “yeah...”

izuku chuckled quietly, the sound warm. “do you draw everyone you meet? or am i a one off exception.” he paused, glancing at you through his lashes. “if so, i don’t mind that at all.”

your face heated, your expression already giving away the answer. “this is so embarrassing.”

“yeah,” he said softly, smiling. “but not in a bad way.”

he reached out, fingertips hovering before lightly touching the corner of the page. “the rest of me looks accurate,” he noted gently. “i liked how you included my scar.”

you swallowed. “i didn’t want it to look wrong.”

“it doesn’t,” he said immediately. then, quieter, “it looks really nice.”

he closed the sketchbook carefully and slid it back to you, his fingers brushing yours in a way that felt electrifying.

“if you ever want to draw me again,” he added, voice almost shy despite the confidence beneath it, “you don’t have to hide it. i’d be okay with it.”

the way he said okay with it made your chest ache — gentle, steady, sincere. izuku midoriya was so kind...

𐙚

izuku grumbled to himself, staring at the pile of work layering the corner of his desk. he'd already completed a whole two, maybe it was three, hours of full-focused study, and he still had another case-study to go through. luckily, he started already, so he wasn't too stressed.

and besides, he deserved a break. after all, he's managed to maintain a smooth, impressive gpa after all this time, who's telling him he isn't allowed to have other hobbies outside of academia?

deciding so, izuku checked your twitter blog, refreshing the page with a swift swipe, eyes focused on the immediate difference of your posts.

misocats353368p 19012026. today was really nice! i did some really cool sketches (won't show them), but someone saw them, which is kinda rare. anyway, i did some baking after my lectures and tutorials, this is what i made!

that was really sweet.

izuku smiled to himself, clicking on the photo of the blueberry cheesecake you had made, that honestly, looked underbaked. he doubted it'd taste any different, and it'd still taste delightful and flavorful, filled with the most delectable jam beneath the cream, and...

izuku turned his phone off, face down onto his desk. he stared down at the tent in his pants, sinking against his chair as he tilted his head back to inspect the ceiling without purpose. he softly palmed himself through his sweat, eyes fluttering as he mounded his hand around his erection.

he didn't know necessarily why he had this much interest in you to begin with. he wasn't sure if it was a crush, infatuation or boredom for some change in his life.

to start off — if he thought hard enough — he'd realize that he didn't really have any romantic feelings towards you, and that he was just chasing something interesting.

need less to say, that didn't mean he didn't want to get closer to you; to know you inside and out, but the feeling in his chest, it wasn't tender, nor was it delicate. he didn't know what it was, and a part of him knowingly felt bad about it.

maybe he just wanted to be your friend.

with a grunt, izuku came in his pants, sticky, and opaque against the grey of his sweats. he watched unintentionally, eyes fixed on the way it oozed through the material, beading into thick clumps on the surface of his crotch. it was so unexpected, but he had no time to question his body.

after izuku took a shower, washing off his sins and the haunting thoughts of you, as well as his feelings, he found himself back under the study lamp, warm against the back of his hand.

a notification dinged on his phone, loud and obnoxious. with a slightly impatient sigh, izuku unlocked his phone, reading the short brief message sent to him by a fellow member of the same society he was in — under a phone number izuku forgot to save.

xxx-xxx-xxx (maybe from ua. university???)

hey man, we proceeded with your management details for the networking ball, so it should be all sweet for next week. also catering is all sweet and planned. also iida said he was all good to scan tickets on entrance.

izuku felt relief settle into his shoulders, a tension he's been aware of for weeks finally coming to a cease. networking ball was coming, and it's taken quite a significant toll on his own mental health, despite it being something that should be fun. the planning, all rigorously thought out by him, took an absurd chunk of his time, and he was hoping by the time this was all over, he'd be able to have more free time.

maybe he'd go back to normal after this.

the following days, were probably easily described as hell. there was always someone in the committee that found a loophole to his organizing, even though there really wasn't any.

at the final meeting till the ball, izuku wanted to rip his hair out. the room casted with stale lighting, hung over the faces surrounding the oakwood table. familiar faces shared across different majors, all dedicated to get the ball running smoothly. yet, it felt that the workload all this time, has been placed onto him.

"izuku, have you considered the other employers that have made last minute—"

"yes, yes i have. i've already done that ages ago," izuku mumbled out, tone flatter than he'd intended.

"okay, then... just also checking, ITP wanted to run their program—"

izuku peered up from his laptop, a smirk filled with annoyance simmering beneath his expression. "riko, yes. i've considered it. everything you're listing down just to list, i've already dealt with it."

the other faces in the room laughed nervously at izuku's words, eyes flickering back down to their screens to organize any last finishing touches.

izuku took a moment to breath, posture straightening. "i just wanted to focus on our positions for next week, which shouldn't be too hard," he said, a little more softer now. "after this, i reckon we can wrap it up."

for the next following hour, conversations filled with thoughtful decisions and meaningful inputs filled the air, and by the end of it, izuku could feel light flitering from the end of the tunnel.

"thank you all for your hard work! i'll see you guys the day of the ball, 4pm sharp," izuku hummed out, nodding to each member, waiting patiently for the room to filter out before he locked up.

he already knew where his body wanted to take him, and he already knew what he wanted to see.

the afternoon sun casted a warm glow, long shadows slanting across the pavement, painting clouds with amber hues. the air felt cool against izuku's neck, anticipation nipping at him as he made his way to the art block.

by the time he reached the room, pearlescent rainbow glass muting the shadow of you inside, he felt all the oxygen he's been depriving himself of finally come back. of course you'd be here.

instead of sneaking behind you — a silly habit of his — he decided to make his presence known.

"hi," he said softly, careful to not disturb the other students in the room minding their own business.

you smiled softly, movements slow as you adjusted to his presence unrushed. this was good, just what he wanted.

"oh, hi izuku!" you squeaked out, voice a bit wobbly, despite him knowing it wasn't on purpose. the way you said his name sent a satisfied swell throughout his stomach, cresting into something victorious as he settled beside you.

"what are you working on today? how were classes?" he asked, tuning in on the way you didn't flinch this time, fingers continuing to sketch soft details on the open page.

you flushed at his question, a look of surprise spreading across your face. it was as if this was the first time someone's asked you this many questions. "it was okay..." you replied, almost too fast and dismissive. "oh, i'm just drawing some anatomy, i got inspired today."

izuku leaned further, attention fully fixed on the careful movements from your hand. he tried to give himself time to understand your dismissiveness to the latter of his question, but decided maybe it was nothing. "really? inspiration from?"

you paused at his words, lips tucked into each other.

izuku's eyes creased tenderly at the sight, amusement written all over his face. "anime, maybe?"

you nodded, subconsciously leaning into your palm to hide the faint blush on your cheeks. "yeah...something like that."

izuku laughed as he pulled out his equipment from his bag, opting to savor this moment with you as much as possible. after all, he deserved it.

"mind if i stay here, and get some work done?"

you glanced up fully, wandering eyes skimming over his hands, prominent veins and tethered skin clasped around his ridiculously-sized textbook as he fiddled through the pages worn with time.

"yeah! that's okay," you replied, voice rejecting your quiet nature as you quickly turned back to your drawings. "if...if you want to talk, or if you just want to sit in silence— just let me know.."

izuku perked at your words, surprisal blooming his features. "what would you want? i can do both."

you kept your eyes on the ligament you were sketching out, brows furrowed. "maybe...sit in silence?"

izuku nodded, happy. "we can do that. of course we can do that."

with that, izuku strained his focus to the work before him. suddenly, the load of content and high-volume reading didn’t weigh heavy anymore.

maybe this is what he wanted the whole time. maybe he really just wanted to be your friend; to bask in your delicate nature as you lived in the center of it. maybe he just liked the calm within you, the brightness in your eyes that flickered whenever you were in your own little world.

the scent of you, powdery and light, brought a calm haze to him that he couldn’t even phantom. it worked like meditation within him, drawing out a euphoria as his mind filtered from all the stress earlier. with you beside him, everything wrong, everything stressful in his life, seemed to water in your essence.

the room hummed quietly, the ac whirring at a freezing temperature by the time the sun kissed the horizon, deep blue cascading the sky into a lilac purple.

he hadn’t noticed this whole time, but somewhere within the hour, you’ve switched from drawing to studying too. he wanted to question you on what you were studying, but the way your brows knitted in concentration, lips pursed in thought — he couldn’t have. he didn’t want to.

instead, his eyes flickered back to the case study he was meaning to wrap up.

he waited till you initiated the goodbye, which never came. izuku set down his pen, a smile faint on his face. “we should pack up, hey?”

his eyes scanned through your unbreakable focus, furrowing at the way your shoulder tensed when you wrote something down.

“y/n?” he said softly, careful. he closed his textbook, the sound alerting you from your trance.

you startled, eyes blinking rapidly as if you’d just surfaced from underwater. “oh—” your gaze flicked to the window, then back to him, sheepish. “i’m sorry. i didn’t realise how long i was… like that.”

izuku smiled, small and apologetic. “no, it’s okay. i just—” he hesitated, fingers brushing the edge of his notebook. “it’s getting kind of late. i didn’t mean to interrupt you if you were in the middle of something.”

“no,” you shook your head quickly. “thank you, actually.” you let out a quiet laugh, breathy. “if you hadn’t said anything, i probably still would’ve been here.”

his brows knit, just slightly.

“…still?” he echoed, not questioning, just simply processing.

you shrugged, a little embarrassed. “yeah. i tend to lose track of time when i’m trying to get something right.”

izuku leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to you in that thoughtful way he had — like he was carefully rearranging pieces in his mind. “so,” he said gently, “you’re kind of a perfectionist.”

you froze for half a second, then smiled crookedly. “aha… i guess i am.”

“mm.” he hummed, nodding once. “that makes sense.”

you glanced at him. “does it?”

“yeah,” he said easily. “the way you focus. you don’t stop until it feels finished to you. not just done.”

the warmth in your chest was unexpected. “…you noticed that?”

he laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “i notice a lot, i think.” then, quieter, almost uncertain, “i mean— i do the same thing. i think. maybe.”

you paused, studying him now — really looking. the way his shoulders held tension even while relaxed. the way his notes were meticulously annotated, all messy, but still there, detailed.

“…i think you have perfectionist tendencies,” you said gently.

he blinked. once. then smiled, slow. “yeah,” he admitted. “i was afraid you’d say that.”

your laugh came out softer than you expected.

and for a moment, neither of you moved — like you’d both just recognised something familiar in each other, something quiet and unspoken, sitting comfortably between you.

the two of you packed up slowly, neither rushing, the quiet stretching comfortably between movements. izuku slipped his pens back into their case with practiced neatness, while you carefully slid your notebook into your bag, fingers lingering on the cover as if reluctant to close it.

outside, the campus had softened into night.

lamps lined the pathways, casting warm halos over the concrete, cicadas humming faintly from the trees. the air was cool — not cold, just enough to raise goosebumps along your arms. you adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder as the two of you began walking, steps falling into an easy rhythm.

it felt natural. too natural.

izuku walked beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed but attentive. every so often, his gaze flicked your way — not staring, just checking. like he wanted to make sure you were still there.

“did you park on campus?” he asked casually.

“no,” you replied. “i usually just walk.”

he slowed a fraction. “all the way home?”

“yeah,” you nodded. “it’s not too bad.”

he didn’t respond right away. instead, he glanced at the darkened stretch of road beyond the gates, brows knitting almost imperceptibly.

“…it’s pretty late,” he said after a moment.

you shrugged lightly. “i don’t really notice the time when i’m studying.”

he smiled at that, fond. “yeah. i can tell.”

the gates creaked softly as you passed through them, the world outside campus quieter somehow, more exposed. cars passed occasionally, headlights washing briefly over the pavement before disappearing again.

izuku cleared his throat. “hey,” he hesitated, then glanced at you. “i could give you a ride, if you want.”

you stopped walking.

not abruptly — just enough that he noticed immediately and halted too, concern flickering across his face.

“oh— sorry,” he said quickly. “i didn’t mean to put you on the spot or anything, i just thought—”

“no, no,” you shook your head, heat creeping into your cheeks. “it’s really nice of you, i just… i think i’m okay. i wouldn’t want to bother you.”

his eyes widened slightly. “bother me?”

“yeah,” you laughed quietly, embarrassed. “you’ve already been here so long, and i know you’re busy, and—”

he cut you off gently. “hey.”

the single word was soft, but it stopped your spiral instantly.

he turned toward you fully now, expression earnest. “you wouldn’t be bothering me. at all.”

you hesitated. “i mean… it’s my choice to walk. i don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

izuku exhaled slowly, thinking. “it’s not that i feel like i have to,” he said. then, more quietly, “i just don’t think i’d be able to sleep if i let you walk home alone this late.”

your heart stumbled.

“…oh,” you murmured.

he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a little bashful. “that probably sounded dramatic. sorry.”

“no,” you said quickly. “it didn’t, i get it.”

the streetlamp above you flickered softly, bathing his face in warm light. you noticed things you probably shouldn’t have — the faint tiredness under his eyes, the loosened collar of his shirt, the way his shoulders relaxed when you didn’t immediately shut him down.

you looked away first. “you’re… really considerate.”

he smiled, small. “i try.”

the two of you resumed walking, a little closer now than before. your arms brushed once accidentally and neither of you moved away.

“where do you live?” he asked.

you told him. his brows lifted. “that’s not close.”

“…i know.”

he hummed, thoughtful again. “yeah. i’m definitely not letting you walk.”

you laughed, startled. “izuku—”

“i mean,” he corrected quickly, smiling sheepishly, “only if you’re comfortable. i don’t want to pressure you.”

you slowed again, turning the decision over in your mind. you weren’t afraid — not of him — just unused to being… looked after like this.

“…would you really be okay with it?” you asked quietly.

he met your gaze without hesitation. “yeah. i would.”

something in his voice — steady, certain — made your chest ache.

“…okay,” you said at last. “if you’re sure.”

his smile bloomed instantly, brighter than the streetlights. “i am.”

he led you toward the parking lot, steps light, like a weight had lifted from him. his car wasn’t far — a modest thing, clean, well-kept, obviously not within your budget. he unlocked it quickly and moved without thinking to open the passenger door for you.

“oh,” you said softly. “thank you.”

he froze for half a second, then laughed quietly. “right. sorry. habit.”

you climbed in, smoothing your skirt over your knees as he shut the door gently. the interior smelled faintly of clean fabric and something warm — coffee, maybe. comforting, woody.

when he slid into the driver’s seat, there was a brief, charged silence before the engine turned over.

“…i’m glad you said yes,” he admitted, eyes still on the road as he pulled out.

“me too,” you said before you could overthink it.

he glanced at you, surprised, then smiled with that boyish look.

the drive was quiet in the best way. not awkward, just calm. the kind of silence that felt shared rather than empty. streetlights blurred past, casting soft shadows across the dashboard.

the road unspooled quietly beneath the headlights, a familiar route izuku could probably drive with his eyes closed, but tonight, he was more aware of the way the steering wheel felt under his palms, the way the accelerator felt more sensitive tonight, the low hum of the engine, the steady rhythm of his own breathing. and you.

you sat beside him, small movements only, tucking your hands into your sleeves, gaze drifting out the window as the city lights passed in soft blurs. you looked calmer now. like something heavy had finally been set down, and you were trusting him. he realized, dimly, that his chest felt lighter too.

izuku had been calling it a lot of things in his head. concern. attentiveness. curiosity. he’d analyzed it from every angle, turned it over like a case study, tried to label it cleanly so it wouldn’t spill into anything messier. obsession felt too sharp a word, but it hovered there anyway, the way his thoughts circled back to you without permission, the way he noticed the smallest changes in your expression, the way silence felt different when you were in it with him.

but sitting here now, he felt something shift. it wasn’t urgency. it wasn’t even that familiar, buzzing anxiety he got when he cared too much. it was ease, simplicity.

he liked the quiet with you — they way that it didn’t demand conversation, didn’t make him reach for explanations or justifications. the kind that let him exist without performing, without solving, without proving anything at all.

he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, just once, careful not to linger. your lashes cast soft shadows against your cheeks, lips parted slightly as you breathed. peaceful. present.

he thought, suddenly, that maybe he’d been wrong to frame it as obsession at all.

maybe he just liked being around you.

liked the way time softened when you were near. the way the world felt less sharp at the edges. the way he didn’t feel the need to be switched on — heroic, driven, composed — but could just be... izuku, quietly driving a car through half-lit streets with someone he trusted beside him.

a breath of air, he thought. that’s what you felt like.

his grip on the wheel loosened without him realising.

maybe he hadn’t wanted anything complicated from you at all.

maybe he just wanted to sit next to you, walk with you, study in the same room, make sure you got home safe, hear you talk about the things you cared about. notice the way you furrowed your brows when you were thinking too hard and gently pull you back before you disappeared into yourself.

maybe he’d wanted to be your friend this whole time.

the thought didn’t disappoint him the way he might’ve expected. it didn’t feel like a step down, or a consolation prize. it was normal, how it should've been.

he breathed out slowly, a small smile ghosting across his lips as he turned onto your street.

you shifted beside him, glancing over. “is everything okay?”

“yeah,” he said easily, meaning it. “just thinking.”

you smiled, soft and tired, and looked back out the window.

“…you know,” he said eventually, “about earlier.”

you looked at him. “yeah?”

“the perfectionist thing,” he continued. “i didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

“i didn’t take it that way at all.”

“good,” he said. “because i feel like you care a lot. but… that’s not something i’d want you to lose.”

when the car slowed near your place, your heart sank just a little — the night already slipping away from you.

he parked and turned the engine off, the sudden quiet settling between you.

“thank you for the ride,” you smiled bashfully.

“anytime,” he replied. then, softer, “really.”

you hesitated, fingers tightening on your bag strap. “um… maybe next time, i won’t stay so late.”

he chuckled. “maybe next time, i’ll just remind you earlier.”

you smiled, stepping out of izuku's line of vision.

𐙚

izuku had memorized the schedule down to the minute.

doors at seven, opening remarks at seven-fifteen, first rotation at seven-thirty. networking clusters evenly spaced, lighting adjusted warm but not dim, music low enough that conversations wouldn’t strain.

he’d triple-checked the seating chart, colour-coded the committee roles, walked the ballroom twice before guests even arrived.

everything was set. that was supposed to be reassuring.

instead, he felt oddly restless as he stood near the entrance, blazer smooth against his shoulders, tie sitting exactly where it should. people filtered in steadily now, familiar faces, polite smiles, introductions layered over one another like static. he greeted them all easily, instinctively slipping into the role he knew well: capable, composed, dependable.

this was what he was good at.

“midoriya,” one of the committee members called quietly, clipboard tucked under her arm. “the west tables are ready.”

“great!” he nodded. “thank you.”

he took a breath, scanning the room.

it looked beautiful — he could admit that much to himself. soft gold lighting reflecting off polished floors, banners hung just right, the low hum of conversation building like a living thing. maybe over exceeding the budget was worth it.

and yet, his eyes kept drifting back to the entrance.

he told himself it was habit, he was just monitoring flow. making sure check-in was smooth. but every time the doors opened, something in his chest tightened, then eased — a quiet, unconscious rhythm.

don’t overthink it, he told himself. he’d done that enough lately, especially with you.

“you okay?” another committee member asked as she passed him a glass of water.

“yeah,” he replied easily. “just making sure everything’s running on time.”

she smiled. “of course you are.”

as she moved away, izuku let out a slow breath. his reflection caught his eye in one of the tall mirrors lining the wall. he looked put together, more than usual. he’d spent longer than he cared to admit choosing his tie, adjusting his collar, smoothing his hair, curls still messy.

still, there was that faint, persistent thought he hadn’t been able to shake all evening — the sense that something was missing, or perhaps waiting.

the doors opened again.

and this time, his breath caught for real.

it wasn’t dramatic. no music swell, no sudden silence. just the simple, unmistakable feeling of his attention snapping into focus.

you stepped inside.

for a second, he didn’t recognize you, not because you looked unfamiliar, but because you looked different. dressed up, softer and sharper all at once. the satin fabric you wore moved when you did, catching the light, and suddenly he was acutely aware of how underprepared he felt for this version of you.

you glanced around the room, tentative but curious, fingers brushing the strap of your bag before you let it fall. you looked like you were deciding where you belonged, how to blend in, but really you stood out.

izuku forgot the schedule.

forgot the rotation times, the carefully planned flow of the evening. all he could do was stand there, heart doing unhelpful and frantic in his chest as he watched you take a few steps forward.

you hadn’t told him you were coming.

the thought landed with surprising weight.

of course you hadn’t, you weren’t on the committee. you weren’t required to update him on your plans. and yet, a small, irrational part of him felt caught off guard in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

you looked… so nervous.

he noticed it immediately. the way your shoulders sat just a little tense, the way your gaze flicked between clusters of people before settling on nothing at all. it was the same look you got when you were thinking too hard, when you were quietly bracing yourself.

without thinking, his feet moved.

he stopped himself halfway.

you're your own person.

still, his attention stayed tethered to you as he forced himself to greet another guest of another company, respond to a question about seating, nod politely through small talk that suddenly felt distant and unreal.

when he looked back, you were further inside now, talking to someone he didn’t recognize. you smiled politely, hands folded in front of you.

that was… new. a warmth swelled across his chest at the sight of you easing.

but, something unfamiliar tugged at him, not jealousy, exactly. just awareness. the quiet realization that you existed in rooms he didn’t always control, that people saw you the way he did, maybe even for the first time.

it shouldn’t have unsettled him, but it did.

izuku retreated to the side of the room under the pretence of checking timing, though he already knew everything was running smoothly. his thoughts felt louder than the ballroom now.

he wondered what had convinced you to come to this. curiosity, maybe. obligation, or perhaps you’d simply wanted to step outside your usual orbit, test the edges of something new.

the idea made his chest tighten, and that's where he caught his obsession for you. it was filled with a careful kind of concern, one that might have been compromising.

would you be okay?

he watched as you laughed softly at something someone had said, the sound lost in the larger noise of the room but visible in the way your shoulders loosened. okay, okay, good. you weren’t uncomfortable.

still, he felt that familiar urge rise to check in, to ground you, to make sure you weren’t disappearing into yourself.

he resisted it. for now.

this was your space too, after all. you weren't this little project for him anymore, you were a genuine person.

as the first official rotation was announced, the room shifted, people rearranging themselves as planned. everything working exactly as it should. izuku straightened, refocusing, slipping back into his role, he had to focus.

but every so often between introductions, between nods and handshakes his gaze drifted back to you.

and each time, he felt it again. that quiet, undeniable truth settling deeper with every passing moment:

he’d organised the entire night. every detail, every position, every outcome. except for you.

he wasn't sure if he could handle that.

“midoriya,” a familiar voice called, pulling him from his thoughts.

he turned just in time to be greeted by a small cluster from his law cohort, all dressed sharper than usual, expressions bright with that polished ease people wore at events like this.

“wow,” one of them laughed lightly, eyes flicking over him. “charming as per usual. the venue's gorgeous.”

another nodded in agreement. “seriously. better than first year.”

izuku felt heat creep into his ears. “ah— thank you,” he said quickly, waving it off. “it was a team effort.”

“still,” the first added, teasing. “you always look like you belong at these things.”

he smiled, polite and practiced, answering their questions, accepting the compliments with a kind of careful gratitude. this was familiar territory, his domain — praise delivered cleanly, friendly.

past the hum of conversation, past the clink of glasses and low laughter, his gaze landed on the far side of the room — near one of the smaller tables tucked just off the main flow.

he was halfway through excusing himself from another conversation when it happened.

not a sound. not a call of his name, just the feeling, similar to a gravitational force.

that sudden, unmistakable pull in his chest, like something tightening and warming all at once, made him look up without thinking.

and there you were, all kind and polite. you’d spotted him across the room.

he saw it instantly, the way your posture shifted, how your eyes widened just a little before brightening completely. your mouth curved into a smile that was entirely unguarded, relief and recognition woven together so naturally it caught him off balance.

oh.

his breath hitched, barely noticeable, but real.

you raised a hand in a small wave, already stepping toward him, weaving through the clusters of people with careful determination. he watched you approach, unable to look away.

he hadn’t realized, not really, how much he’d wanted you to see him here.

“izuku!” you said when you reached him, voice warm, eyes still shining. “i was wondering if you’d be here.”

he laughed softly, a little breathless. “yeah. um—” he gestured vaguely around the ballroom. “i kind of had to be.”

you blinked.

your gaze swept the room — the banners, the committee members, the smooth orchestration of movement — then snapped back to him, incredulous.

“you didn’t tell me you planned this whole thing.”

his ears flushed instantly, all solid confidence flushed down the drain under your warm eyes. “oh—i didn’t plan all of it. i mean, i was on the committee, and—”

you stared at him for a second longer before laughing, the sound light and genuine. “izuku.”

the way you said his name, fond, amused, all in that pretty tone, sent that tingle through him again, sharper this time, lower.

“you’re incredible,” you added, shaking your head. “this is amazing. it's really nice here.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, smiling shyly. “i’m really glad you think so.”

“of course i do,” you said easily. “i mean—look at this.” you gestured around again, eyes sparkling. “it’s kind of perfect.”

perfect. the word landed heavier than it should have, more meaningful, more like a praise.

he glanced at you, noticing the way your excitement softened the edges of your nervousness, how standing here with him seemed to ground you just a little. your shoulders weren’t as tense now. your smile came easier, you weren't like the person he talked to a week ago.

and something in him eased in response — it meant you were getting comfortable with him.

“are you enjoying it?” he asked gently. “really.”

you hesitated, just a fraction, then nodded, a bit certain. “yeah. i am.” you smiled again, smaller this time. “i just needed a second to breathe earlier.”

he nodded, unsurprised. “yeah. i thought maybe.”

you tilted your head. “you did?”

“mhm.” he smiled. “you get this look when things get loud, didn't we talk about this before?”

your eyes softened. “you really do notice everything...”

he laughed quietly. “i try not to.”

there was a pause. and in that moment, izuku was aware of how close you were standing now, how easy it would be to stay here all night. how easy it would be to just drift away from the crowd and be with you.

“i’m glad you came,” he said finally.

your smile returned in full. “me too. especially now.”

the room shifted around you as the next rotation was announced, voices rising and moving in waves. someone brushed past, apologizing quickly, the noise swelling to a loud crescendo.

izuku hesitated, then gestured toward the quieter edge of the room. “do you want to walk for a bit? i can show you where we planned the less overwhelming spots.”

your eyes lit up again, all in that way izuku adored. “i’d love that.”

as the two of you moved together, izuku became aware of how different this felt from everything else he’d orchestrated tonight. schedules could be adjusted, lighting could be fixed, conversations could be guided. everything would've been fine.

but this — the warmth in his chest, the way your presence softened the sharpness of the evening — wasn’t something he could ever plan.

it just happened and for the first time all night, he stopped thinking about whether everything was running perfectly, because standing beside you, watching your face light up like that — that felt more than enough.

izuku heard the next rotation announcement clearly this time.

seven-forty five. cluster b and c transition. something about the west table rotate clockwise. exactly as outlined. exactly as prepared.

he felt the familiar reflex rise — the instinct to move, to oversee, to ensure nothing slipped through the cracks. it had lived in him for so long it felt automatic, like breathing, especially in this lived role.

but then he stopped, he didn’t need to.

every contingency had been accounted for, every loophole closed. he’d walked the room twice, briefed the committee, adjusted for worst-case scenarios that never came. the system didn’t hinge on his constant presence anymore, there was nothing more he could do.

tonight was already perfect.

the thought settled, solid and calm.

all he just needed to do was enjoy the night himself.

he let his shoulders drop, just slightly.

he glanced at you again, the way you stood beside him, eyes following the movement of the room with a quiet curiosity rather than obligation. you weren’t measuring outcomes or impressions, you were just like him. just trying to enjoy the night.

and suddenly, the choice felt easy.

fuck talking to other people.

fuck the endless cycle of introductions and polite interest and performative charm. he’d done his part — more than his part. the night didn’t need him to keep proving it.

what it hadn’t planned for was you.

he slowed his pace, matching yours again, attention narrowing deliberately. when another committee member’s eyes flicked toward him from across the room, searching, he met her gaze briefly, calm, assured, then nodded once.

a silent it’s fine.

he turned back to you, voice warm. “hey. do you want to sit somewhere quieter, even quieter?”

you looked surprised, then thoughtful. “aren’t you busy?”

he smiled. “i was. not right now. i think they can handle.”

something in his tone made your shoulders ease immediately. “okay,” you said. “i’d like that.”

as the two of you moved toward the edge of the ballroom, the hum of conversation continued uninterrupted. people rotated, laughed, exchanged cards. the night unfolded exactly as he’d designed it to.

he took a seat across from you, the space between you unhurried, intentional. the windows beside you reflected soft light, the city beyond blurred and distant.

for the first time that evening, izuku wasn’t tracking time.

fuck talking to other people, he thought again, this time without heat. without rebellion.

the ballroom noise had softened into something distant here by the windows, the music reduced to a low thread beneath conversation. the table between them was small, round, intimate — two glasses of water, one abandoned dessert plate, the soft reflection of light rippling across its surface.

izuku rested his forearms lightly against the edge, posture relaxed in a way he rarely allowed himself. he should’ve been scanning the room, checking on guests, but he didn't want to.

instead, he was watching you.

you were speaking — something about your classes, your schedule — your hands moving slightly as you talked, fingers tracing shapes in the air without you realising. every so often, you paused to think, gaze lifting briefly toward the ceiling before returning to him.

he nodded along, listening. really listening. at least, he tried to.

“so i’m technically in law,” you were saying, voice calm, a little hesitant. “but it’s a double degree.”

that caught his attention properly.

“you are?” he asked, surprised. “law?”

you laughed softly, shyly. “yeah. i don’t usually advertise it.”

“why not?”

you shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. the motion was small, unconscious, yet it did something unsettling to his chest. “i don’t know. i guess i don’t feel very… law-coded.”

he smiled at that. “what does that even mean?”

“you know,” you said, amused. “confident or outspoken. ready to argue at any given moment. kinda like you.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “that’s not all of us.”

you glanced at him, eyes warm. “i suppose...”

something about the way you said it — not complimentary exactly, just observant — made his breath hitch.

“what’s the other degree?” he asked.

“arts,” you replied. “i like the balance. something structured, something… softer.”

he nodded slowly. “that makes sense.”

and it did. everything about you made sense in that quiet, inevitable way, like if he’d been paying attention properly all along, he would’ve seen it coming. you were this ball of comfort that bleed into his life, filling it with sunshine.

you continued talking, explaining how you ended up there, how one degree grounded you and the other let you breathe, the one that let you be yourself. he watched your face as you spoke, the way your expression shifted subtly with each thought — earnest, careful, a little self-conscious when you worried you were rambling.

“sorry,” you said suddenly, smiling apologetically, flashing him that meek look. “i’m talking a lot.”

“no,” he said immediately. “please don’t stop.”

you blinked. “oh.”

he cleared his throat, heat creeping into his ears. “i like hearing you talk.”

your smile softened, something gentler settling into your features. “okay.”

you kept going, and that was the problem.

because the longer you spoke, the harder it became for him to stay anchored to the words themselves. his attention drifted — not away from you, but deeper into you. into the way the light caught on your cheekbone when you turned your head. into the faint curve of your smile when you found the right phrasing, all so sure of yourself when you did. into the way you looked at him when you were trying to make sure he understood, the slight furrow in your brows.

he did understand, of course he did.

he realised, with a quiet jolt, that he’d stopped thinking in sentences. stopped analysing, categorising, planning, everything around him, you. his thoughts came slower now, softer, reduced to simple impressions.

beautiful. you were so beautiful it dulled everything around him.

there was no other word that fit.

not in a dramatic sense. not in a way that demanded attention. just… undeniably, painfully beautiful in the way you existed so naturally in front of him.

he’d seen you before, of course — studying, walking through campus, sitting across from him with notebooks between you, you were sweetly addicting like that. but tonight, something was different. maybe it was the way you’d dressed, or the way the dim lighting softened everything it touched. maybe it was the way you seemed more open, less guarded, like you’d decided — just for tonight — not to hide. this was you.

he swallowed, forcing himself to refocus as you asked, “what about you?”

“me?”

“yeah,” you said. “how did you end up in law?”

he almost laughed at the timing.

“uh,” he started, then paused, collecting himself. “i think i always knew. in a way, i think it was something i always wanted to get into.”

you leaned forward slightly, attentive. “because of justice stuff?”

he smiled. “that obvious?”

“kind of,” you admitted. “you have that look, like you care a lot.”

the words landed gently, but they stayed, bringing him a sense of deja vu.

“yeah,” he said quietly. “i do.”

you nodded, satisfied. “that makes sense.”

he found himself smiling back without thinking, something warm and gnetle spreading through his chest.

this, this was dangerous.

not because it felt wrong, but because it felt easy, because sitting here with you didn’t require effort or performance or vigilance. because for the first time all evening, his mind wasn’t split between ten different responsibilities.

it was just you. it was the only thing filling his mind at this point.

you paused, noticing his silence. “are you okay? you’re doing that thing again.”

“what thing?”

“staring,” you said gently, observant.

his breath caught.

“sorry,” he said quickly. “i don't mean to.”

it was your turn to interrupt him. “it’s okay, i'm not judging.”

you held his gaze, unbothered. maybe even a little curious, something inviting beneath your gaze.

for a moment, once more, neither of you spoke.

the space between you felt fragile, like something easily broken if either of you moved too quickly — izuku didn't want that.

izuku felt the yearning then — properly, unmistakably. not sharp or desperate, but deep and steady, like a current pulling at him from somewhere beneath his ribs.

he wanted to reach out. not to touch you, not yet — just to exist a little closer. to stay in this pocket of quiet longer than the night technically allowed.

he wanted to know you. not in fragments or shared moments, but fully — your habits, your contradictions, the way your mind worked when you weren’t trying to be careful. he didn't want to just know what you liked, what your interests were surface-level, he wanted to know the mundane things, your routine, which food you liked because it reminded you of your childhood. he wanted to absorb all of you.

and the realisation scared him, just a little.

because he didn’t want to rush it. this wasn't just the meek girl in the art room who stayed afterhours, this was someone he genuinely...

whatever this was, it deserved patience.

“…i’m really glad you came tonight,” he said softly.

you smiled, something tender in it. “me too.”

and as the night continued around them — the networking, the conversations, the perfectly planned flow — izuku stayed right where he was, trying to memorize the feeling of this moment.

he wanted to engrave you into his skin, breath you in like oxygen and hold you like you were the only form of matter on this planet. the sound of your voice. the warmth in his chest. the quiet certainty that for once, wanting something didn’t feel like a problem to solve.

it just felt like something to hold.

he tried, really tried, to follow what you were saying.

but you looked too pretty. so fucking pretty, it almost felt unfair.

the golden lights hitting the shine of your dress, caught the warm light every time you moved, clinging to you. it glowed softly, the fabric pooling and shifting when you breathed, constricting around your chest when you leaned forward, when you laughed under your breath.

and your eyes — god.

they looked endearing under the lights, softened by the glow, thoughtful and gentle in a way that made his chest ache. you listened the same way you always did, fully. like every word mattered. like people were worth holding space for. there was something so mindful about you, so careful, and it made him want to be careful too.

your cheeks were flushed, not with nerves exactly — with kindness. with warmth. like the room hadn’t overwhelmed you after all, like you’d found a way to exist inside it without losing yourself, allowing yourself to be free around him. the color bloomed there naturally, and he had to stop himself from staring at it, from wondering what it would feel like to cup your face and feel that warmth beneath his palms.

and your hair.

pulled up, neat and intentional, a careful updo that spoke of time and patience. not rushed. not careless. soft intentional curls framed your face, falling just loose enough to shadow the softness of your cheeks. gentle. deliberate. beautiful in a way that didn’t try to be anything else.

he swallowed, pulse loud in his ears.

if he had known how gorgeous you'd look under these warm lights, under the disco ball above iridescent against your skin, he might've just planned a second ball just to see you like this again.

get it together, izuku.

but he couldn’t stop thinking about how much care must’ve gone into this. how you’d probably stood in front of a mirror, adjusting, fixing, hesitating — wondering if this was too much or not enough. how you might’ve almost undone it, almost chosen something safer, something smaller.

and yet here you were.

sitting across from him, hands folded neatly, voice soft, eyes bright — completely unaware of the way you were undoing him piece by piece.

he realised then that this wasn’t just attraction. it wasn’t novelty, or the dim lighting, or the elegance of the night.

it was the way you existed so gently in the world.

and fuck — he didn’t know what to do with that yet, so he stayed quiet. he listened. he held the moment carefully, filing this image of you carefully into his mind.

because wanting you like this — silently, reverently — felt too important to rush, far too valuable to treat as a little project.

the ball thinned out gradually.

not all at once — just in small, polite waves. conversations wrapped up. coats and blazers were collected. laughter softened into goodbyes. the music dimmed, almost imperceptibly, like the room itself was beginning to exhale.

izuku noticed it the way he noticed everything.

he’d already been thanked three times; already assured that it had gone beautifully, that the night was a success, that the committee could handle the rest of the cleanup. someone mentioned the afterparty in passing — a loose plan, informal, nothing he needed to oversee.

he nodded. smiled. filed it away. and then forgot about it entirely.

because you shifted in your seat beside him, smoothing your dress as you glanced toward the exit.

“i should probably head off soon,” you said softly, eyes creasing in that apologetic sense. “it’s getting late.”

something in his chest tightened — not sharply, just enough to register.

“yeah,” he replied. “i was thinking the same.”

you stood first, slipping your bag over your shoulder. the movement drew his eyes again, traitorous, lingering. the golden shimmer of your dress caught the light one last time, and he felt that familiar ache settle low and steady.

you waited for him without asking.

he stood, too.

the walk toward the entrance was unhurried. the room looked different now — emptier, less demanding. the work was done. the night had unfolded exactly as planned.

except for this part.

he stopped near the doors, the cool air from outside brushing faintly against his neck.

izuku hesitated.

he’d offered before. a few days ago. the night at that time, felt simpler. because he didn't feel this strongly not too long ago, but this felt different — heavier somehow, more deliberate.

“um,” he started, then cleared his throat. “do you want a ride home?”

you blinked, surprised — then smiled apologetically. “oh, it’s okay. i can just grab a taxi.”

he nodded automatically.

and then, in his head, something stalled. what was he thinking?

a taxi meant waiting. standing alone under streetlights. a stranger behind the wheel. it meant letting you disappear into the night like you were just another variable, another thing he didn’t need to think about.

and that, that felt wrong.

uncomfortable. an inconvenience.

the thought surfaced unbidden, clear and undeniable.

it’s never an inconvenience when it’s you.

the realisation startled him with its honesty.

he looked at you again — the way you stood there, composed but tired, eyes slightly lidded, still soft around the edges despite the long night. the way your fingers curled lightly around your bag strap, like you were already halfway gone.

“please,” he said instead, more firmly this time. “really. i’m heading that way anyway.”

it wasn’t a lie.

not exactly.

you hesitated. “are you sure? you’ve probably had a long night.”

he almost laughed.

“yeah,” he admitted. “but this part’s easy. can't let a pretty girl going home alone can i?”

you studied his face for a moment, like you were weighing something — then nodded. “oh! uh— okay, if you’re sure.”

“i am,” he said, without hesitation, already guiding you.

outside, the night air was cooler, quieter. the exterior of the venue's lights cast long shadows across the pavement as you walked side by side, close enough that your arms brushed once, neither of you moving away.

his car wasn’t far.

as he unlocked it, you paused, glancing back at the building. “you did really well tonight,” you said. “everyone could feel how much care went into it.”

the words settled warm in his chest.

“thank you,” he replied. “that… means a lot.”

you smiled at him — soft, genuine — and he felt that ache again, deeper now. how was he going to handle this...

you slid into the passenger seat, dress gathering carefully around you. he closed the door gently, then took a second before walking around to the driver’s side.

as he started the engine, he felt the pull of the rest of the night somewhere behind him — the loose invitations, the unspoken expectations, the afterparty he hadn’t even mentioned.

he didn’t think of it as a sacrifice. he thought of it as a choice.

and as he pulled away from the curb, the city lights stretching ahead, izuku realised something quietly, undeniably true about himself, and about you.

there were a lot of things he was willing to rearrange.

but when it came to you, nothing about this felt like an inconvenience at all.

the car settled into a gentle hum as he pulled onto the road, the city lights sliding past the windshield in slow streaks of gold and white. the heater was on low, just enough to take the edge off the night air. everything felt muted in here — insulated, almost private.

you broke the silence first.

“i talked to a lot of people tonight,” you said softly, gaze turned toward the window. “more than i thought i would.”

“yeah?” he glanced at you briefly, then back to the road. “how was it?”

you smiled, small and thoughtful. “good! a little overwhelming at first, but… good.”

he nodded, encouraging, letting you set the pace.

“there was this girl from corporate law,” you continued. “she was really kind. she told me about her clerkship and how scared she was at the start.” you laughed quietly. “which helped, actually. made it feel less… impossible.”

“i’m glad,” he said. and he meant it — deeply. of course you could handle yourself.

you shifted in your seat, fingers brushing the fabric of your dress absently. “i don’t know if i’ll hear from any of them again,” you added. “but it was still nice. like… proof i can do it, you know? talk to people. be in those spaces.”

his chest warmed at that.

“that’s not nothing,” he said gently.

you looked at him then, eyes catching the dashboard light. “yeah. i think i needed to be a bit like you tonight.”

there was a pause, comfortable but full. the kind that let thoughts stretch without pressure.

he listened to the way your voice softened when you spoke about the night, the way pride threaded quietly through your words — not loud or boastful, just earned, rightfully so. he found himself wanting to catalogue it all. the cadence of your speech, the way you chose your words carefully, like you didn’t want to overstate or undersell the experience.

he admired that about you. the balance. god, you were so pretty.

“i kept thinking i was saying the wrong thing,” you admitted with a small laugh. “but then i realised… most people are just happy someone’s listening.”

he smiled, nodding as this thumb drummed against the rim of the steering wheel. “that’s true.”

you glanced back out the window. “i think that’s why i liked it more than i expected. it wasn’t about impressing anyone, just connecting.”

the word lingered.

connecting.

tonight was a success. no, it was more than a success.

he felt it settle somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and warm. he wondered if you realised how naturally you did that — how you drew people in without trying, how your attention felt like a gift rather than a transaction.

he wanted to tell you, how your caring nature drew him in effortlessly with the least amount of words possible. he didn’t.

instead, he said, “you’re really good at that.”

you hummed, unconvinced but pleased. “maybe. i’m still not sure i belong in rooms like that.”

he tightened his grip on the steering wheel for just a second.

“you do,” he said quietly. “even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

you turned toward him again, studying his profile. “you really think so?”

“yeah,” he replied without hesitation. “i wouldn’t say it if i didn’t.”

something softened in your expression — relief, maybe. trust. it made his chest ache in that familiar way, the yearning curling gently rather than sharply now, beckoning him to feed into it.

you leaned back into the seat, exhaling. “thank you. for tonight. and for the ride.”

“anytime,” he said. then, softer, “i’m glad you came.”

you smiled to yourself, eyes drifting closed for just a second. “me too.”

the rest of the drive passed quietly, but it wasn’t empty. it was filled with the sound of your breathing, the rhythm of the road, the shared understanding of a night well-lived.

izuku kept his focus on the street ahead, but his thoughts stayed with you — with the way you spoke about the people you met, not as stepping stones or opportunities, but as moments. experiences. proof of your own growth.

he realized then that this was what he wanted to know about you. not just your ambitions or your plans, but the way you processed the world. the way you took meaning from small, human interactions. he wondered how you felt about him.

as he turned onto your street, something in him tightened again — a quiet reluctance.

the car slowed. the moment thinned.

but he held onto it carefully, storing it away.

because even if you never heard from those people again, even if the night faded into memory, this — this conversation, this calm — mattered.

and as he pulled to a stop, izuku knew one thing that was absolutely true. tonight hadn’t been about networking at all.

it had been about you finding your place.

and him realizing how badly he wanted to stay beside you while you did.

𐙚

the networking ball might’ve been the best thing izuku’s ever planned yet. 

not in a technical sense — sure, catering as beyond expectation, speeches inspired and the schedule ran without collapsing in on itself. those were things he already accounted for, no surprise there.

the following week, izuku received praise. not just from the students, but also professors he was working closely with. 

he hadn’t done it for recognition — god, no, that never even entered his mind. nor had he done it for the networking, not really. he wanted something that felt intentional, a means for students to still enjoy their university days without feeling guilty for compromising on studying. something that didn’t feel hollow or transactional.

and somehow, after all of the budgeting, negotiations, it worked. 

students were able to line up with companies for further work, people got to have a good time, new perspectives were unveiled for those stuck. 

committee members drift past him in the hallways, offering quick appreciative thanks, light teasing about finally relaxing. someone claps him on the shoulder, while another jokes about him being “charmingly competent, as per usual”. 

izuku smiles, polite and warm, accepting the praise with content that all went well. 

and, he should feel done. the mission was complete, it should just be back to the books now, the days should unfold normally. 

he grabs lunch on the go, grumbling to himself about forgetting to meal-prep the night before. he tucks himself into a quiet spot in the law library, answering emails, cleaning up any missed content he might’ve let slip through the cracks of his schedule before moving to his next lecture. 

the campus hums around him, familiar and unremarkable. this is the moment he gets to sink in the sun’s warmth on his skin, the noticeable cool breeze on his arms and neck. 

at one point, while crossing the quad, he thinks he catches a glimpse of you near the arts building — just a flicker of your hair blending with the moving crowd. by the time he looks again, you’re gone. 

he remembers the way you’d looked at the ball — endearing, beautiful, everything tender and loving in between. it was enough to have him spiralling, doing everything he could to make you his, but that wasn’t right. 

he shook his head slightly, refocusing on the green ahead of him. things should be ordinary, but the only thing out of place, was his mind. 

the lecture ended with a collective mundane sigh. this lecture was particularly content-heavy, and by the time the professor had taken off his glasses and shoved his laptop into his bag, izuku already knew he’d be reviewing the whole thing from scratch tonight. 

on the way from the lecture hall, he decided to take a detour. his feet shift direction, pivoting him down a familiar corridor without much thought. 

the day had been long, but manageable. but really, it’s only been manageable because a part of you has occupied his thoughts, while the other half blurred with case notes and the low hum of the aging professor echoing faintly in his head. 

the art building is quiet at this hour. 

he slows as he reaches it, already feeling your presence, already anticipating you. the air changes immediately — it’s warm, welcoming with the faint smell of paint and paper, and definitely something mineral he hasn’t dealt with before. 

he should head home, review the notes in his room, add to the pile of work he already has accumulating on his desk. but, how could he not see you? just because he felt guilty about getting hitoshi to practically discover your twitter account, and that he may have jacked off to your liked videos. but he’s changed, right? he only wants to know you for you, now.

the hallway is mostly empty, footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor as he walked past closed doors, ongoing tutorials till heard from within. for the majority, most of the lights are off, and the vast of the building had already begun settling into its evening rest. 

except for one sector, the one he goes to most afternoons, the one he used to go to just to ease his mind, but was now just to see you. 

a glow spills from the art room, rainbow panels dull against the sun’s setting, a thin line of the afternoon’s last sun cutting across the floor. 

izuku slowed, breathing shallowing. this was, undoubtedly, his favorite part of his day whether he wanted to argue it or not. he approached closer, peering in through the open doorway with an idle intention of saying hello — or maybe just confirming if you weren’t even there at all. 

just when he was to enter the room, the sound reaches him first, soft, uneven, pained. 

his chest tightened instinctively as the realization settled in.

you’re seated at your normal spot, shoulders hunched, sketchbook open and forgotten beneath your trembling hands. your head is bowed, hair falling to cover your face, but can already tell what state you’re in with the way your body shakes. 

his body moves before he can even think of what to say. 

“hey hey,” he says softly, tone gentle as he slots himself beside you, careful to not invade your personal space. 

your head snapped up, panic flashing evident across your face, raw as if you’ve been caught. you scrub at your cheeks with the heel of your hands, shaking your head frantically. 

“i—i’m fine, izuku,” you sniffle out quickly, too quickly. “sorry, i didn’t think you were going to come by—”

“no no no, please don’t apologise, please don’t. it’s okay,” izuku reassures, tone softening even more. “i didn’t mean to intrude, i just heard you…couldn’t leave you crying here alone.”

you look like you might bolt. your breath stutters at his words, feelings collapsing even more, chest hitching like it’s trying to decide on imploding in on itself. you turn away purposefully, shoulders curling inward. 

izuku recognizes it immediately — the way you're panicking even more now. 

“okay,” he murmured, calm even as his heart hammers against his ribs. “okay, okay, it’s okay, deep breaths for me. you’re safe.”

you shake your head, fingers digging into the edge before they move to hold izuku’s, body still turned away from him. “i’m being stupid.”

izuku’s eyes widened at your words, more than your touch. “hey, no you’re not.”

he moved around you, crouching down before you slightly so he’s not towering over you, keeping his movements slow and visible, gently grabbing your clenched fists and rubbing small circles over your knuckles.

“i am, izuku,” you sob out, hot tears spilling down your cheeks and falling onto izuku’s hand. your breathing stutters again, before easing at his patience. “i am… i’m sorry. so so sorry…”

“hey,” izuku says again, quiet, thumb still tracing slow circles, completely ignoring the way your tears patter against his skin. “you don’t need to be sorry, not for this, just let it out, okay?”

you shake your head at his words once more, frustration making its way to your pained features. your grip tightened in on itself as you try to make sense of izuku’s touch, warm and comforting. 

“i didn’t mean to make it weird,” you whisper, words barely holding together, though it seems like you’re speaking more to yourself. “i swear i didn’t…”

his brows knit, confusion and concern flickering across his face. “y/n…what’s going on, sweetie?” 

the endearment slips from his lips accidentally, and it definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you’re too distressed to even care.

you don’t answer right way, your eyes focusing on his kind ones as you try to calm down, your breathing evening out a little now, just enough for you to swallow, shoulders still curled inward. 

“someone said something about m—me,” you say finally, voice choked and raspy. 

his thumb stills, hovering mindfully over the delicate skin of your knuckle. “yeah?”

you nod, the dam of tears almost unleashing. “they—they said i was weird.”

the word sits heavy between you, ugly and sharp in your mouth. 

honestly, it wasn’t as bad as izuku thought it would be. but, that being said, he’d never undermine your feelings if that was something that really hurt you. 

izuku exhaled slowly through his nose, processing your words. “i don’t think that’s true. how could that be true?”

you let out a small, broken laugh. the sound ripped from your throat raw, eyes downcast now. “you don’t really know me. they’re probably right.”

“maybe not,” he says gently, shifting himself closer so your knees are almost touching his chest. “but i know that crying over something like this doesn’t come from nowhere.”

your lips tremble at that, nodding shamefully. 

“i didn’t mean to,” you repeat, quieter now, voice hushed. “i wasn’t trying to— i wasn’t trying to do anything wrong.”

he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, seeing that you’re obviously devastated about something that had happened throughout the day. the thought set something ablaze and uncomfortable within him, heat swirling in his chest at the thought of someone hurting you like that. 

“i don’t think you’re someone who does things with bad intentions,” izuku started. “i think people mistake your quiet, thoughtful nature for indifference.”

your shoulders sag, tension leaking out of you with exhaustion. tears spill freely now, more devastatingly calm this time, as if he’s just cracked a code. 

“i’m sorry,” you whisper again, voice cracking. “i don’t know why i’m like this— i thought— i thought that the networking ball, i proved myself…”

izuku frowned at the sight before him, you collapsing in on yourself, defeat cementing painfully in your chest. “don’t apologise for being yourself. if you want, you don’t have to explain everything to me.”

that, seems to be what finally breaks the lock you had on.

you let out a sob, real and pained. your head dipped forward as you struggled to pull yourself back together. 

izuku stays right where he is, patiently carrying whatever weight he can. he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t fill the silence with reassurances. he just keeps that same, steady tempo of circles into your knuckles, like he has all the time in the world. because with you, he really does. 

eventually, your breathing eases out again, sniffles filling the silence instead.

“thank you,” you sighed out, worry still painted all over your face.

“of course,” izuku replied kindly, tone still careful and mindful of your emotions. 

you sit there together for a moment longer, allowing the art room to settle back into its usual hush. when you finally straighten, posture recorrecting itself, your hand slips from his, wiping at your cheeks with the sleeve of your jumper. 

he was meant to do that. it’s too late now. 

he doesn’t comment on it, instead he moves to sit in a chair, legs slightly strained from the crouched position he was in. his eyes drifted briefly to the sketchbook still open on the table before returning to you. 

“hey,” he says after a beat, voice still hushed. “can i ask you something?”

you glance at him with a wary look before it’s neutralised. “okay, go ahead…”

he offers a small, reassuring smile at your dismay, assuring you that he wasn’t going to interrogate you. 

“do you mind telling me who said that about you?” he asks gently, tone clipped more than he’d like. “only if you want to.”

“i don’t want to make it a big thing,” he adds easily, like an afterthought to what he’d originally asked. “i just don’t like the idea of someone making you feel like that, is all.”

you hesitate, the name cautious on your tongue. your fingers twist together, a grimace making its way to your face, worry etched into every small movement. 

“it was adam,” you say finally. 

the name comes out oddly softer than it should. 

izuku blinks once, registering the name before filing it away. 

“adam trideschi?” he repeats, the name falling off his tongue slowly, simply making sure he heard you right. 

you nod. “yeah, he—” you stop abruptly, lips pressing together in thought. “maybe he— i don’t know, izuku. i don’t want you to like go up to him or anything, or talk to him about this. i don’t think he was trying to be cruel. it was probably just a joke. i’m just— i guess i’m just sensitive.”

izuku’s jaw tightened at the sight of you overexplaining yourself for him, as if you’re trying to compensate for whatever flaw you’re insecure of — though to him, there’s nothing you need to prove to him. 

“what kind of joke is that?”

you shrug, shoulders lifting and falling quickly. “the kind that lands wrong i guess. i mean, i’ve always been a crybaby…”

that’s all you say, nothing more.

he took a deep breath, gaze drifting somewhere past the table as he absorbed this new information. adam. law cohort, same year as the both of you. the name rings a bell, familiar in a way that he can place a face to the name, despite the fact they’ve never been close. 

“thank you for telling me,” izuku hummed out after a moment. “that was really brave of you.”

you look up at him, eyes bloodshot and tired, uncertain. “you’re not upset?”

he shakes his head immediately. “never. why would i be upset with you?”

your shoulders ease at that, relief swelling across your features as let out a choked laugh. “i just don’t want drama,” you add in quietly. 

“i know,” izuku assures. “and it doesn’t have to be, okay?” he pauses, still lost in thought. “if he says something like that again, you don’t have to deal with it alone. okay?”

you nod, eyes shining faintly as tears line your waterline. “o—okay.”

izuku gives you an empathic smile, warm and considerate as he pushed himself up from the chair. he hesitates for half a second, fingers curling at his side like he’s debating something personal. 

“for what it’s worth,” he mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck, moving up to his undercut, a little sheepish. “i’m kind of a cry baby too.”

your brows lift, surprised. 

“seriously.” he huffed out a quiet laugh, the embarrassment settling into something certain and natural. “i just hide it better now.”

something in your creased brows soften, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your mouth despite everything. 

“so,” izuku continues lightly, bag by his shoulder, “you’re in good company. no judgement here. i think i cry harder than you.”

he could never leave you alone like this — especially after what happened. 

the walk to the car is quiet, and the ride home was already implied by the way he clung to your side. the campus is hushed around you as you move beside him, steps small, arms folding loosely around yourself as if you’re still bracing yourself. 

the drive is gentle. no music, just the soft hum of the engine and the streetlights sliding past the lightly tinted windows.

you talk a little — unsurprisingly not about what has happened. just smaller things, and he knows it’s your way of distracting the thoughts in your head. you talk about how cold it’s gotten at night, how the semester feels longer than it should. and all izuku offers is attentive nods, meaningful comments that make you huff a breathy laugh. 

when he pulls up outside of your place, neither of you moves to get out right away.

he can still see it. and it hurts for him to realize the truth.

you’re still hurting, and from whatever really happened today, something you definitely didn’t let him know about — you’re drowning in it. 

the engine idles before he completely turns off the car decisively. 

you stare at the dashboard, fingers picking at the strap of your bag. izuku watched you from the corner of his eye, heart tugging uncomfortably in his chest. 

“hey,” he says softly, filling in the silence of the outside, the distant sound of the wind whistling. 

you look at him, as if you’re silently pleading something. 

“do you feel okay going inside by yourself?” he asks, hand hovering over the steering wheel. 

you hesitate, and it’s written all over your face, the way your lips tremble say you choke out a reply. “i’m okay.”

he nodded slowly, choosing to accept it, watching as you slowly step out of his car. then, pauses. swallowing. he shouldn’t take advantage of this moment. he shouldn’t take advantage of this moment—

“this is— okay, you don’t have to say yes.”

you wait, movements halting immediately at his gentle voice. 

“but,” he continues carefully, seeing the way your shoulders relax. “would it be okay if i came in for a bit? just to make sure you’re settled. i can leave whenever you want.”

there’s no expectation hidden in his sugared tone, no leaning closer, no pressure. just a kind offer. 

you turn, searching his face — the earnestness, the concern he isn’t trying to hide — and something inside you eases. 

“yes, please….”

the relief that crosses his face is immediate, but restrained, concealed beneath the rationality of the situation. “okay, let me carry your stuff then.”

you almost refuse, but izuku can see the way your eyes gather down to his biceps, a light blush coating your puffy cheeks before you hand over your bag. 

“thank you, izuku.”

“hmm.”

you step inside first, flickering on the light as izuku lingers just behind you, your bag bunched at his shoulder with ease. 

the house is quiet, empty. simple. 

you freeze for half a second, urgency swirling into your expression as you pad to — where izuku assumes to be — your room.

“um—” you say quickly, voice slightly pitched with a nervous laugh. “i just— just need to clean my room really quickly…um, you can grab your stuff from your car while you wait if you want to stay for a while and— um, study…since it takes you a while to get home.”

izuku’s eyes light up at your invitation, nodding eagerly, your words flying over his head. “sure.”

as he made his way to the front door, he turned to look at you who’s still standing in your original spot. “by the way, your home is really nice, i promise you i’m not judging if your room's a bit messy.”

your face heats instantly. “i know! i just—it’s embarrassing.”

the sight of you flushed like this, to him, it’s endearing. he nods in response to your flusterness, a light look on his face as he jogged to his car, gathering his bag from the boot.

izuku returns back inside of your house a minute later, unable to hide the smile flush on his face, bag slung over his shoulder, shoes nudged off neatly outside like he’s trying not to impose.

“sorry,” he says lightly, maintaining eye contact with your shy ones. “you’re right. it is so cold out there.”

“it’s okay,” you reply, a little too quickly before softening your tone, steady. “um, you can come into my room now — unless you want me to make food, we can do that.”

“that’s okay, thank you for the offer. but if you haven’t ate, i don’t mind hovering around either.”

you shake your head, pointing to the empty containers where you must’ve eaten from throughout the day. 

you hover for half a second, fingers intertwining playfully as you gesture down the hall. “my room’s just— here.”

izuku nodded, following behind you without question. 

the space is meek. small, but warm. it’s lived-in in a quiet way, a neat bed, desk pushed up against the wall, soft amber light from a flower lamp pooling the walls. everything looks tidy, but not sterile. in fact, it’s cozy. 

you step aside to let him in fully, giving him a curt look. “sorry if it’s cramped.”

“it’s fine,” he intercepts immediately, waving a hand. “it’s really nice in here, y/n.”

he means it. he likes— no, he loves it. it’s adorable. it’s you. this is you, the version of you he’s been searching for, where you rest, where you hang out. it’s as if izuku’s unveiled another intimate layer of you, and you’re entrusting him with it. 

you move around him cautiously, straightening something unnecessary on the desk, fingers brushing the edge of one of your heavily annotated textbooks before pulling away awkwardly. 

“you can, uh, sit wherever,” you add, nervous energy creeping back into your voice. your eyes dart around the room, shrinking in on yourself when you realize the only place to really sit…is your bed or the floor. 

you perch on the edge of your bed, smoothing your skirt out of habit. the room settled into a quiet that feels different from the rest of the house, charged. closer. something intimate but not quite.

izuku glanced around once more, polite and unobtrusive. “you have a lot of books,” he observed. 

you laugh softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “yeah, kind of a problem.”

“i get it,” he beamed, a warmth spilling from his cheeks and out his ears as he realized just how in your life he was. “same.”

he sat down beside you, his stronger frame sinking the mattress. his posture is precise, attentive in the way he’s trying to respect your humble abode. 

for a moment, neither of you spoke as he plopped his bag down on the floor. 

then, izuku breaks the silence gently. “do you…want to study? or we can just sit and talk, either’s okay with me.”

you hesitate, rooming the options. “we can study,” you say. “yeah, that’d be good. i mean, yeah we probably have a lot of work to do.”

izuku’s already reacting with compliance, reaching into his bag and pulling out his laptop. “okay.”

you stand again, too fast as you stumble to your desk. “i’ll just grab something,” you say quickly. 

“take your time,” he hummed out easily, already flickering his eyes back to his screen, reviewing his typed out notes from today’s gruelly lecture.

you turn away, and just for a moment, izuku catches the way your gaze flicks to the one place in the room you were careful not to touch, a closed box. 

whatever’s there stays hidden, and izuku assumes it’s best not to pry. if he were to guess what was inside of that box, tonight might turn into something else. and tonight wasn’t that night. 

you plop yourself back down across from him, taking the headboard, expression calm, hands steady. the night resumes its quiet rhythm. you question if he’s comfortable where he is, and he says it’s fine. 

it’s until he’s about three quarters of his notes and the syllabus when he notices the air in the room shifting. 

attentively, he gave you a glance, noticing your attention drifting from your own work and onto him. 

it’s subtle, fleeting almost. but he catches it swiftly. he sees the way your gaze lingers, the almost imperceptible pause when it lands a little too low, a little too close to his mouth, and even lower. when you notice he’s caught you, yor dip your head into your laptop, humming quietly. 

it makes his breath hitch, a heat spreading uncontrollably throughout hin. 

you clear your throat softly, breaking the silence. “thank you…for earlier, you know…comforting me, even though you really didn’t have to.”

his fingers pause on the keyboard, screen dimming. “of course,” he replied, voice steady even though his chest feels strangely tight. 

“even if i probably looked really gross. heh.”

there it is again, that self-deprecation you wrap yourself in. it’s softer now than when you were crying, but all in the same way, damaging. this is what he was worried about earlier —  going inside, sitting in your room in silence, allowing adam’s words to replay in your mind. that wasn’t okay. 

izuku closed his laptop, giving you his full attention, not before autosaving his work. 

you’re sitting cross legged across from him, shoulder relaxed against the headboard, eyes earnest in a way that makes it hard for izuku to think properly. there’s a faint blush tacked onto your cheeks, the rosy hue lingering from something emotional rather than embarrassed this time. 

“you didn’t.”

you blink. “pardon, sorry?”

“look gross,” he clarified, fingers clasping over his politely, not intentionally.. “you just looked like you were having a rough time, which you were. that’s excusable and it’s okay.”

you smile softly, as if you were trusting yourself with this, before dropping your gaze to your lap. “still.”

a sigh left izuku’s lips, leaning back against the heels of his palms. “if that’s gross,” he says lightly. “then i think i look horrific crying.”

you laugh at his words, allowing his comfort to ease into the room, filling it with a warmth that overpowered the amber tones from your lamp. there was a pause, and somewhere in that silence, izuku notices a lot about you. 

he’s aware of you in a way that feels new now — it’s not overwhelming, just a lot. and he’s happy to take that load. the way the lamplight catches in your hair, relaxed and effortless, the way you keep worrying your soft bottom lip between your teeth like you’re holding something back. his gaze instinctively flickers down there before he can even stop it. 

to your lips. 

your soft, plush, kissable— 

he looks away almost immediately, heart thudding, fingers curling into themselves. he should focus. 

he doesn’t realize what you’re doing at first. he’s too busy focusing on slowing his heartbeat and quieting his mind to even notice. 

you’re on your knees, a needy look in your eyes, shifting closer, slowly and careful until you place yourself right beside him — shoulder to shoulder. 

“y/n…”

your hand finds the fabric of his sleeve, fingers curling there as if you’re testing your proximity. 

“hey— “ he starts softly, but you lean in instead.

your arms wrap around him, tentative at first, as if it’s something foreign to you. then, tighter, melting into something you’ve been longing for. your cheek pressed against his shoulder, breath warm through his jumper, and izuku freezes for half a second before instinct takes over. 

his arms come up around you, just as gentle, securing you in a blanket of affection. he holds you like he’s afraid of startling or hurting you. god, the thought of him even making you uncomfortable sickens him. 

your grip tightens once, and it’s an uncharacteristic notion from you, but izuku just lets it happen. he simply takes it. 

you pull back slowly, your hands lingering on his chest as you lean away, still within close proximity. when you lift your head, your eyes flicker, once to his half-lidded eyes, then to his slightly open lips. 

izuku swallows, suddenly vulnerable in your orbit. 

he sees it then, the clear opening, you hesitating to take it. there’s a want hidden beneath your lashes as you peer straight at his lips. 

the room feels very small all of a sudden, hot and charged. electrifying at his tips. 

“you’re not weird or gross,” he says quietly, almost without thinking. “god, how could you ever be…”

your lips part, like you’re about to say something, like a response to his dialogue. but he doesn’t let you. 

fuck it. 

izuku leans in first, closing the distance slowly enough that if you wanted to stop him, you could. when his lips meet yours, it’s soft, velvety, moving against yours unhurried. 

you taste so good.

you make a small sound, something quiet and needy muffled between your tongues. your hands tighten around the fabric on his chest, anchoring him and pulling him closer. the kiss deepens, gentle, unmeasured as izuku pressed his tongue against yours, groaning. 

his hands move to your jaw without thinking, slotting it perfectly just beneath your ear. and for a moment, nothing else exists. not the art room, not the crying that happened earlier, not izuku questioning his feelings for you — because now it’s true. 

kissing you like this, finally tasting you, this was worth the obsession. it was worth figuring out if he liked you, or if it was infatuation. because now he’s certain; with you in his arms, all mush and affectionate against his lips, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here. 

when he finally pulls back, a string of saliva connecting between your tongues, izuku’s face heated a warm red. 

“was that okay?” he whispers.

you nod, eyes bright and almost desperate, cheeks that pretty tinge. “more…”

he smiles, soft and relieved, a little awed at your affection.

he leaned in once more, a little more passionate now, rougher. one second, you’re leaning into him, knees brushing his, the next his hands are on your hips, gilding you closer until you’re settled onto his lap. 

you let out a quiet, surprised breath, hands flying to his shoulders. 

“izuku—“

he paused, pulling from the kiss once more, eyes searching yours with a generous concern. “is this okay still?”

your answer is in the way you stay, the way your hips move lightly against his, nudging the growing tent in his pants. 

that’s all he needs.

his arms wrap around you, sliding beneath your top to feel the bare skin of your back as you lean in again. the kiss deepens, lips moving together with a familiarity that makes his chest ache, like this has been waiting just beneath the surface the whole time. 

your weight settles fully in his lap, movements warm and pressed close, and izuku becomes acutely aware of how this is making you feel right now. he can feel it. the way your delicate fingers slide up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his curls with need, the way he can feel your heat beneath your skirt and through your panties. 

fuck, you weren’t wearing shorts underneath. 

he lets out a soft sound against your mouth, moaning into the kiss as you rock against his erection, tiny mewls spilling out in response. 

the kiss grows unhurried but hungry in a quiet way — all lingering touches and stolen breaths. his hand settles at your waist, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles like earlier, only now it sends a different kind of heat through him.

you pull back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against his, both of you flushed and unsteady.

his heart is pounding. yours too — he can feel it.

“…we can stop,” he murmurs, even though his arms don’t loosen. “anytime.”

you shake your head, breathless smile tugging at your lips. “don’t want to.”

something in his chest twists — soft and overwhelming all at once.

he kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring it. like he’s afraid if he rushes, the moment might break and rewind.

and as you sit there together — tangled, warm, entirely focused on each other — izuku realises this doesn’t feel reckless.

he knows he shouldn’t have come inside your home. he saw you crying earlier, chest heaving with panic. you should be resting up, probably sleeping. but he just can’t help it. he might be the most selfish human alive right now. 

it feels right. too right, even with that quiet, guilty voice in his head. but he doesn’t care, not right now. not especially when you’re so compliant on top of him, grounding your pussy against his crotch like you need him. 

and for once, he doesn’t overthink it. he just holds you closer and lets the moment carry you both.

still, he couldn’t believe it. him being in your room, the soft glow of your lamp casting warm shadows across crumpling sheets, wrinkling from movement.

his heart pounded unrelenting in his chest, hammering against his ribs as he soaked in the scent of you, the essence of your lips, the soft warmth teasing his cockhead beneath his pants. 

you were driving him absolutely insane. 

the way you moved, your clothed pussy unforgiving against him, felt as if you’d claimed every inch of him for yourself. it was greedy the way you were humping him, needy sounds flooding the room. 

he could feel the dampness spreading, warm and slick, marking him. and the worst part about it, izuku wanted to return the act. he wanted to put his warm cock inside of you and take you right here, ruin you from anyone else if there was any. but this isn’t how he wanted things to go. 

“y/n,” izuku murmured against your mouth, breaths coming out short, breaking the kiss. 

you shook your head, eyes dazed as your tongue chased his, not letting him pull away for too long. you rocked your hips harder, the wet slide of your clothed pussy lips against his bulge sending jolts of pleasure up his spine. 

izuku gripped your waist trying to slow you down, something primal inside of him igniting in the way you were desperately chasing this. 

he wanted to slow this down. he didn’t want to have to shove his cock in you tonight, especially not with how distressed you were earlier. 

but fuck, you were a needy little thing; humping him through your soaked panties, the fabric of his jeans memorising the curve of your pussy lips. he almost remembered the type of porn you liked to watch when he stalked your twitter account. 

this was you, you just weren’t afraid of hiding it anymore. 

he didn’t really want to stop you, because a part of him deep down, wanted to claim you too. he was just simply trying to be rational here. 

“izuku,” you breathed out, voice sultry with the way you uttered his name. there was a clipped hunger in your voice, shaky and unrestrained. you nipped at his bottom lip, a bit too hard, before soothing it with your warm tongue. “p—please don’t stop…need you…”

your hands slid under his shirt, palms flat against his rigid torso, careful as you only allowed your fingers to rest stationary against his muscles.

he hesitated, pushing you back at bit, fingers hovering around the hem of your skirt. “we should…you know i want this, but i don’t want to take advantage of you, okay?” his words felt weak as he said them, because he knew he wanted to take you here. if it was any other day, he’d have you bent over the art table, cock deep against your cervix if that’s what you wanted. 

you frowned, the tender whine from your lips as you nodded. “oh— okay. that’s okay, ‘m sorry…”

izuku reached up to grab your face, thumb caressing your jawline. “nono i mean, we can keep going if you’d like. just wanted to check in with you first, nothing more than this, okay?”

you nodded, leaning now into his shoulder, face hidden against his neck as you continued rocking, hips circling deliberately now, your clit caught with each bump against his erection. 

“feels nice, izuku…don’t wanna stop…” you shuddered against him, a fresh wave of wetness soaking the space where the two of you were connected. 

“i know, i know, you can keep moving, i got you.”

izuku began grinding against you, gentle movements as he humped your pussy through your soiled panties. something dark, a familiar thrill, twisted in his gut, a beckoning truth that was just waiting to be acted upon. 

he wanted this just as much as you. in fact, he probably wanted this more. from when he saw you at the ball, back to when he saw the filthy shit you probably touched yourself to, he should’ve known how sweet this pussy would be. he didn’t want anyone else to have access to this. 

no, he couldn’t let anyone have access to this. 

not especially how pretty you look, your sweet nectar soiling his erection. 

“i’m so close…’m so— close!” you panted, nails moving to dig into his shoulders, your back arching as you desperately chased the edge. 

izuku wrapped his arms tight around you, grounding you closer to him, whimpering lightly as he felt your pussy clench against the barrier of your panties. his heart raced, a possessive surge rising in him at your soft sounds, the way it should be so wrong to know what you sound like, all close and horny. but he wanted to swallow it all, take it in for himself, file it into memory so he can replay it the next time he jacked off. 

“i got you, sweetie. come on, ride it out for me…you’re doing so good.” his words came out commandingly more than he’d intended, tone wrapped in tenderness. he thrusted up slightly into your caged form, meeting your grind with his own restrained buck. 

“fu—hnnggh— “

you pulled back suddenly, shuddering at the loss of contact. your cheeks flushed deeper, scarlet hues softening your features. you bit your lip, eyes drooping to his chest before flickering up, vulnerable. 

“you okay?” izuku asked, caressing your back in comforting circles. 

you nodded, thoughts evidently trapped in your mouth as you tried navigating your next request. 

“y/n?”

“can i have your fingers in me?”

izuku’s eyes widened, processing how small your voice sounded, almost hesitant. he searched your face, searching for any overlap in the moment that could’ve had you feel this way. but there was this look in your eyes, something beneath your gaze that held an underlying hunger, a faint promise beckoning him in. 

the request hit him, stirring shadows in his mind where he wanted to corrupt you and mold you into this little sweet thing that was untouched from the world outside. he paused, his hands stilling on your back, processing his own buried impulses. 

he wanted to, he wanted to. he wanted to do more than just finger you. he wanted to have you all pretty over his cock as he fucked you with the most upmost tender care, slow deep movements that’d seal everything unexplainable between the two of you. 

he imagined visiting you at the end of each day, sitting in that art room, sunlight faint against your skin. the way your eyes lit up when you saw him, sketchbook open to whatever erotic-implied concept you were working on that day. he wanted to be the one who drove you home, the one you turned to when things went south. the one who was in your life like it mattered.

he wanted every inch of your life, every little cozy bit of your reality. he wanted to be in it. no, he wanted to be it.

the vision was fleeting, but vivid. it was his bound to you, the way your eyes locked on his as if he was the only person in the world. 

the sight made his cock twitch, guilt and desire warring inside him. he wanted to give in, to feed that madness burning in every fiber of him. 

he swallowed hard, pushing the dark visions down, but not far enough. maybe tonight, this could just be about you. making you feel good. 

“yeah,” he said finally, voice rough with self-control as he nodded, giving in to the gravitational pull. “i can do that, of course.”

your eyes lit up, tears brimming your waterline as you allowed izuku to ease you off his lap, shifting the two of you back onto the bed. izuku carefully fluffed the pillow beneath your head, arranging the sheets thoughtfully around your legs, his touch reassuring as he positioned himself beside you. 

“spread your pretty legs for me, okay?” he hummed out, slipping an arm beneath you and around your other shoulder, pulling you close to his chest. “i’ll take care of the rest.”

your body relaxed slightly under his attention, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you settled against him, knees parting meekly. 

izuku smiled as he slid one hand between your thighs, brushing the drenched cotton aside — quickly noting to himself that you liked floral panties. your pussy was on display, folds slick and swollen, dripping with need. 

izuku groaned, his erection twitching in the confinements of his jeans. you were so pretty. so undeniably, unmistakably gorgeous. he couldn’t see all of you, and he wish he could, but the sight was enough. 

“your fingers are ticklish,” you commented, voice slightly shaky as you peered up at him. 

“is that a good thing?”

you shrugged, blush deepening. “i think so.”

he traced your entrance, collecting the arousal on his fingertips, shuddering at the way you whimpered. 

slowly, he pushed his index finger, feeling your walls snug around him, hot and velvety.

"a—aah!"

you were incredibly tight, your walls fluttering around the intrusion as he sank in knuckle-deep, enveloped by your velvety heat and the obscene wetness that coated him immediately. 

“oh... you're so cute,” he breathed, his eyes widening at the sensation, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. but there was none — only pleasure, your lips parting in a soft moan as your hips lifted slightly to meet him. 

he moved slowly at first, sliding in and out with deliberate care, letting you adjust to the stretch.

“that's it, just like that... you're doing so well for me,” he praised, his free hand coming up to stroke your hair, thumb brushing your temple in reassurance. the words spilled out naturally, sweet and encouraging as he added his middle finger alongside the first, stretching you further.

your pussy clenched greedily around them, pulling him deeper, and he curled his digits upward, searching for that sensitive spot inside.

“izu! nghh!”

when he found it — rubbing firmly against the spongy wall — you gasped sharply, your back arching off the bed as a rush of your juices soaked his hand. “yes, right there... my sweet girl, you're so responsive. i love how you squeeze me like this, so so pretty.”

he began to pump his fingers with more purpose, the initial gentleness giving way to a building rhythm. 

the slick sounds of your arousal filled the room, mingling with your breathy cries, izuku's gaze stayed fixed on where his hand worked between your thighs, mesmerized by the way your folds parted around him. 

“you look incredible taking my fingers... so wet and perfect for me,” he continued, his voice dropping to a husky murmur, praise dripping from every word as he watched your body respond. "want me to go faster?"

your clit peeked out, swollen and begging, so he brought his thumb to it, circling the nub in firm, steady strokes that made your thighs tremble.

sensing your growing need, without response to earlier, he picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers faster now, deeper, the motion turning insistent as he chased your pleasure. 

your walls gripped him tighter with each plunge, your moans escalating into desperate pleas of his name. izuku smiled endearingly as he curled his fingers, massaging that spongy spot inside of you.

“izuku... oh god, please…” you gasped, and he leaned in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, breath mingling in the heated space between you. 

“i've got you... you're so close, aren't you? come on, let go for me— fuck, you're beautiful,” he encouraged, his tone sweet yet urgent, fingers pistoning in and out with rapid precision, thumb flicking your clit harder to push you over the edge.

he could feel it building — the way your body tensed, thighs quivering uncontrollably, breaths coming in sharp, desperate gasps. 

“izuku! think— think i’m gonna…something's!”

izuku sighed, chest heavy with the thoughts of your piss kink, but he was sure, he was so sure, that wasn't the case. his fingers moved faster, deeper, knuckles deep. god, he hasn't put this much concentration into something before.

“come on, baby, let it all out for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with adoration, thumb grinding harder against your clit to tip you over. "you're so perfect, taking my fingers so deep... i want to feel you come undone."

it hit you like a tidal wave. your back arched sharply off the bed, a high-pitched whimper escaping your lips as the orgasm crashed through you. your pussy spasmed wildly, squeezing his fingers in powerful pulses, and then you squirted, a hot gush of your release spraying out around his hand, soaking the sheets beneath you in a warm flood. 

"that's it..."

he watched in mesmerized awe, the sight of your body convulsing, twitching against his touch, your folds fluttering and dripping with your arousal. every quiver, every soft cry that followed, sent a jolt straight to his core.

the intensity of it — the way you surrendered completely, vulnerable and beautiful in your ecstasy — pushed him past his limit. izuku groaned low in his throat, his hips bucking involuntarily against the air as his cock throbbed painfully in his jeans. 

he couldn't hold back; the pressure built unbearably, and with a shuddering gasp, he came hard in his pants. thick ropes of his cum spilled out, soaking through the fabric in sticky warmth, pulsing with each aftershock as he rode out his own waves. 

his free hand gripped your thigh tightly, grounding himself in the feel of you, that possessive fire flaring brighter in his chest.

”that's my girl... you came so hard, so good for me.” finally, he withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, bringing them to his lips for a quick, instinctive taste—salty-sweet, just like you.

"izuku..."

he gathered you into his arms then, pulling you against his chest as your breathing evened out, the warmth of your body seeping into his. that fierce protectiveness swelled again, tinged with the unspoken obsession that mirrored your own hidden depths, even as you both lay there, not yet bound by any label, but undeniably connected in this raw, intimate moment.

that night, he watched as your breathing settled into rhythm, conscious descending into a peaceful slumber.

𐙚

it was nice like this. the routine of seeing you, not forcing you into his orbit because he knew you were always just there, waiting for him. this was incredible, and with adam dealt with, you were happier than ever.

it isn't until later — much later — into their sweet, innocent routine, that the thought returns.

he's sitting in lecture, half-listening as the professor speaks at the front, pen moving mindlessly across his notebook before he scraps that measly idea and moves to typing on his laptop. the words blur, cases stack on top of each other, and everything still feels normal.

too normal, in a way that's so mundane to him, something must be off.

i've never see her here.

he frowns faintly, eyes drifting around the room without really looking at anyone in particular. he knows his cohort, he's good with faces, and incredible with pattern. he notices who sits where, who skips weeks, and who always shows up late.

and yet, he can't place you here.

not in this room, not in the shared common study areas where law students nest their noses into heavy, dusted textbooks.

but you told him you were in law.

law. double degree.

you'd never lie, and he believed you without question — so why does it feel so strange now?

maybe your timetable's different, maybe you took up different electives, tutorials at odd hours. law is like that sometimes — its fragmented, and makes students scatter across the buildings at unfavorable times.

still.

he's seen adam, he's seen people he barely knows. he's seen faces once, and filed them forever, but never you.

wait, but that wouldn't make sense. you had to be in law, how else would you have known adam?

the thought shouldn't matter, and yet, it lingers, prickling at the back of his mind. maybe he didn't know you as much as he thought he had. 

most importantly of all, he needed to stop. 

he catches himself, and exhales quietly, settling into the uncomfy chair he was on. 

he needed to stop. he needed to stop noticing absences, filling in unnecessary gaps that potentially antagonised you. 

you said you were in law, and that was enough. 

he forced himself to tune back to the front, drawing his attention back to the lecture and the contents on the board that would most definitely be on the final. but, as much as he tried to let the words flow in through one ear, and out the other, the unease never quite disappeared. 

you’d never lie — izuku knew that was one thing for certain. maybe this whole time, he realises with a faint, uncomfortable twist, that he’s been paying so much attention to you in the art room, all quiet and adorable with your sketchbook that he couldn’t comprehend you here. maybe you quietly linger the same halls as him. 

maybe this is something he should bring up with hitoshi. 

the cafe is tucked just off campus, far enough from the lecture halls where the noise thins out. the ground smells of rain-soaked concrete by the time izuku arrives, hair slightly damp by the afternoon shower. 

hitoshi is already there when izuku arrives, slouched in his chair with a coffee thats gone lukewarm, eyes half-lidded at the sight of him. 

“you’re late,” hitoshi said, taking a sip. “you know that i’ve got a study schedule outside of this sketchy business?”

“five minutes,” izuku replied with a light apologetic smile, sliding into the seat across from him. “that’s not late, come on.”

hitoshi hummed, rolling his eyes at izuku’s annoyingly kind, bright eyes. “for you? it is.”

izuku exhaled in defeat, slouching into the seat. “you know i’m one of your favorite people…why so mean today.”

“because,” hitoshi starts off, voice flattening, “every time you say that, you’re about to ask me for a favour. don’t even try denying it, i know.”

izuku paused, blinking. “...okay, first of all—”

“no,” hitoshi cuts in, setting the cup down. “second of all, what stalker crime do you want me to do for you?”

izuku winced, sinking shamefully. “you didn’t even let me start…”

hitoshi arched a brow, a light smirk daunting his tired features. “you don’t need to — i already know.” he paused, watching izuku’s eyes hang on the space before them. “come on, spit it out.”

“it’s about y/n,” izuku added, light returning to his eyes. 

hitoshi sighs. it’s long and exaggerated, drawn out in a purposeful way to shame izuku. “why am i not surprised,” he says, disbelief threated through his words. “you’re still on this girl.”

izuku leaned back against his chair, scoffing as he folded his arms. “i’m not—”

“uh-huh, you’ve been ‘not’ on this girl for weeks.”

izuku opened his mouth, before closing in again. “...i’m just— i’m just trying to figure out if i’m overthinking.”

hitoshi remained silent, a laugh bubbling up his throat at his friend’s distress. “you most definitely are,” he says immediately after. “but, that doesn’t mean you’re wrong to check yourself, and i’m damn glad it’s with me, god— hey you know this is illegal, right?”

izuku relaxes at his words, pouting at the quarter end of hitoshi’s sentence. “of course i know it’s wrong, but you came to me with your business…so as a good friend…”

hitoshi studied him for a moment, reaching forward for his cup once more, swirling the last inch of coffee. “as a good friend,” he repeats dryly, “i’m obligated to tell you that i hate when you preface things like that.”

izuku huffs. “you’re the one who said you were glad it was you.”

“i am,” hitoshi says easily. “that doesn’t mean i like being morally compromised — this is so weird, but go on. just spit the rest of it out.”

izuku hesitates, brief and telling. “she said she’s in law,” he begins carefully, “and i believe her, i do. it’s just—” he frowns, eyes drifting toward the window. “i’ve never actually…seen her in any of the usual places, lectures, study rooms. nothing.”

hitoshi stared blankly, unimpressed. “and? you realise that people may have different schedules?”

“i just don’t know though,” izuku admits, quieter in thought now. “or if i’m just noticing things i shouldn’t be now that i’m so involved in her life.”

hitoshi snorted. “you definitely are.”

izuku shot him a look, brows knitted. “can we please be serious here.”

“i am,” histoshi says, settling the cup down after finishing it. “you’re great at pattern recognition, and that’s not always a blessing.”

he pulled his laptop out anyway, because of course he does. it’s not the same one he uses for all his other uni work, or anything personal. “double degree students get split all over the place,” he mutters, scrolling. “law’s a scheduling nightmare — ever thought of that, genius? different cohorts, rotating tutorials, electives in random buildings—”

his thumb paused, then he nods once, assured. “yeah, she’s enrolled. law. no funny business.”

izuku’s shoulders dropped noticeably, a sigh of relief immediate and unguarded. “i knew it.”

“you hoped it,” hitoshi corrected mildly. “difference.”

izuku doesn’t argue, still sitting with the confirmation. 

“tuesdays and thursdays for tutorials, mid-day if you wanted to know,” hitoshi added. “arts-heavy electives this semester. that explains why you keep seeing her in the art room instead of your concrete nightmare.”

izuku let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “okay— that explains why we never see each other. while i’m in my lectures, she’s in her tutorials and— okay.”

“okay,” hitoshi echoes back with a mocking look. then, “so what exactly were you planning to do if she wasn’t?”

izuku stiffens, hit with the brutal alternate. “nothing…”

“right,” hitoshi says. “that’s what everyone says right before doing something stupid. especially you. look what happened,” he sighed out, motioning to the scar on izuku’s face. 

izuku groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “i’m not planning anything, i just— well, someone said something to her. made her feel weird about herself.”

hitoshi’s expression sobered slightly. “and that didn’t sit right with you, hey?”

“no,” izuku said immediately, expression serious. “it didn’t.”

it most definitely didn't. but, the damage couldn't be reversed, especially with the way adam's been limping around campus now, a notable jaggedness to his breathing. what was done, was done, and izuku couldn't be more happier.

hitoshi watched him for a second, a faint smile at his friend’s commitment. “you’re lucky i think you’re a good person. okay, then here’s your answer.”

izuku looked up, eyes softening as the spiral in his mind ceased. 

“she’s in law,” hitoshi began. “she didn’t lie. you’re not uncovering some hidden truth, and as your friend, if you keep digging past there, it stops being concern and starts being…something else, which i fear is already happening but that isn’t my business.”

izuku nods slowly, guilty. “i know.”

“do you?”

“...i’m trying to.”

hitoshi leaned back in his chair. “good. because you’re allowed to care. god you’re just so weird sometimes..”

izuku’s lips pressed together, thoughtful.

“also,” hitoshi adds, already reaching for his bag, “if you ever say ‘as a good friend’ to justify dragging me into this again, i’m charging you coffee. for the week.”

izuku smiles faintly. “deal. thank you, again.”

as they stand to leave, izuku feels steadier than he has in days. the facts are simple. clean.

before the two parted ways, hitoshi turned back to him, nodding certain. “just to talk to her, i’m sure she’d be ecstatic. oh, and it wouldn’t be as weird that way, too.”

you’re in law. you told the truth. he doesn’t need to fill in the gaps. why would you ever lie to him in the first place? that wasn’t you at all. 

and yet, as he steps back out into the damp afternoon air, the unease doesn’t fully disappear, and he berates himself for it.

because knowing you’re here doesn’t explain why you always seem just out of reach.

and that question, quietly, stubbornly, stays with him. this isn’t something hitoshi can figure out for him. this is something he had to figure out for himself.

꒰taglist! ♡ ꒱; @mariinktg @solozxo @rednicotine @dotalicious @peachiezz @gotaradiobutmightneedahead @sia7666 @solarquartzz @txntcleswhxreuwu @rosesforblues @mochiiks @lonelyfooryouonly @mooncherrix @poptxrts @katscherry

꒰ part two here my laptop genuinely hates long-worded fics so it was a bit hard to edit </3 but i hope you guys enjoyed...and are ready for part two!! if while reading this part, and you caught something....

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][loss of virginity][missionary][cervix kissing][female orgasm][mention of fingering and oral (f!rec.)][neck kissing]

"I've watched enough porn to know how to do it, dumbass."

"Yeah? And I don't trust you near my coochie. You crushed a Pepsi can with your finger today."

"Don't say 'coochie'."

"What then? Pussy?" You scoff.

"Vagina."

And you lower the Cosmopolitan magazine, your expression bored and upper lip curled in distaste as you watch Mark, reclined on his bed as he absentmindedly tosses a paper ball into the air, catching it with ease, only to throw it back up.

The motion is repetitive, boring to watch but you can't deny the appeal of watching that little muscle in his forearm twitch beneath his skin.

"I'll call my genitalia whatever I want, thank you very much. And you shouldn't mimic porn." You state. "A lot of that stuff isn't real and pardon me, but I want an actual orgasm when I lose my virginity."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark's grin is cocky.

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

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

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

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

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

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💛💙୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

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

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

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

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

"You okay?"

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

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

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

"Yeah, this is a mood setter."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Move your hand."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No you're n—nahh..."

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

"You little... Fuck.."

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

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

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

"So I'm big, huh?"

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

"Just fuck me already."

You grumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bro said 'please par—'... Shit..."

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

Mark isn't even fucking you anymore.

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

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

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

Inhaling the scent of you.

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

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

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

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

And a laugh tumbles from his lips.

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

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

"And you'd thank me for it."

[phantomrose96]

Dealing with burnout is sooooooooooooooo easy all you need to do is operate at 40% indefinitely and be kind of mad at yourself the whole time.

[tiredmamaissy]

Sung Jinwoo forcing me to take all his cock? Yes, just yes.

MDNI! 🔞 warnings: nsfw, smut, jinwoo being a bully bc it’s been so long since he’s been inside, first persons pov

“Don’t push me away.”

Jinwoo’s gruff voice thrums in my ear. I push harder against his abs, I can’t take anymore of him inside me.

“Can’t.” I gasp, and I feel my eyes prick with heated tears. “B-Been too long, Jin.”

It’s only been a month since we’ve seen each other, work has him gone for long periods. But this feels like the time he took my virginity all over again.

“You can take it, baby.”

Eyes of greed pierce into me as he towers over me, completely boxing me in with his thick arms. I have nowhere to run. My legs fight to close and my thighs shake when he wrenches them apart. I whimper and look down at his cock buried inside me. Fuck, I feel so full. How is he only half way inside me? I start shaking my head when I feel him push into me, and my hand turns into a fist against his tough exterior.

“You’re going to take it, sweetheart.” His hand raises and his two fingers pinch my chin, tilting my head upwards so our eyes meet. His eyes glow a vibrant teal and I find it hard to hold his gaze. It’s too intimidating. “And I want to see your face when you do.”

Oh…god. My nipples tingle and harden into peaks on my chest and I feel him put his weight on me. Oh god. Oh god. I fight the urge to glance down but I can’t help it. I look down to see his cock bullying its way even deeper inside my pussy and I squeal and squirm. His grip tightens on my jaw and tilts my head back up.

“Look at me.”

Whatever light was in his eyes is long gone now, replaced by a darkness I’ve never seen before. My clit swells and pops out of its hood, throbbing and pulsing with need. Oh god, it’s sinking even deeper now. The urge to look again rides me, but I force myself to stare into this new abyss of darkness.

“That’s it. Eyes on me, sweetheart. Don’t look away.”

I let out a lengthy whine and my nose burns when my tears overflow onto my cheeks. Jinwoo smirks, using his strength to shove his pelvis closer to mine. He’s enjoying this, watching intently as my face screws and my eyes weep. I jolt back when I feel him press into my cervix, and my hand reflexively pushes even harder against him.

“Jin…Jinwoo.” My voice trembles and my brows furrow into a kiss. “Wait, wait.”

“Good girl, good girl.” He whispers quickly. His jaw tightens as he pushes against the newfound resistance, and he stares deeply into my eyes as he does it.

Then I feel it. I feel his heavy, swollen balls press into me, and his pelvis grinds against my clit. His top lip twitches and his gaze flicks down.

“Oh, fuck.” He growls, breathless. “See that?” His hand guides my face down, making me look at how my pussy has taken every single inch of him. “Look at that, baby. Beautiful.” He lets go of my jaw and places his palm against the little bulge just under my navel. “I’m all the way up here.”

I look in awe, there’s so much pressure that it feels like I could burst. I’ve never taken him this deep before. I can actually see him inside me. Oh god. I look back up at him, frantic. He grins and settles himself under me, throwing my legs around his waist.

“It’s okay, darling. You’re okay.” He huffs as he leans back, blatantly admiring the bulge he’s made. “You can take it.”

[evierain777]

I love it 😍

[wooobuddyletsgetnasty]

He Knows

AHAHAHAHAHHAAAAA

Keep reading

[crude-saint-deactivated20260130]

✦ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎you shouldn't have seen that ﾉ eighteen plus (explicit smut, dom!gojo, jealousy, male masturbation, improper use of nudes, fingering, overstimulation, size kink, manhandling, dacryphilia, mentions of pregnancy, breeding, praising, noise control) 7.5k words ﾉ art by nek0zuu_ on x

“fuck,” satoru groaned through quivering lips, eyes fluttering his wispy, snowy lashes and threatening to shut. he’s perched over his desk, vision growing fuzzy and trying to make out the image resting idly on this desk.

it’s you. or your thighs, more like it.

his hand is wrenching his shaft, a slow up and down movement he wishes was your cunt, fluttering around him. there was no way in hell he could possibly mimic the feel of your gummy, warm walls that had always managed to threatened to milk him of every. last. drop.

but you’d broken up with him. and it’d been months since he’d last spoken to you, save for the occasional glances towards each other in the halls that would leave the of you flushed and fidgety and his heart aching.

he remembers when you'd snapped this photo, on a date where he couldn’t keep his eyes off your bare and plush thighs below the hem of your skirt, resting in his passenger seat. “a photo’d last longer,” you teased, then grabbed his camera and did the work for him.

he knows he should’ve deleted this, out of respect for you. but he couldn’t do it. erasing any memories of your time spent together—it was impossible for him.

so now all he could do was jerk himself off, biting his lip and gripping the armrest of his chair in his dorm room after attempting to study and giving in to the constant twitching of his dick every time he thought of you. even if it was mid-day and anyone walking in the halls outside his dorm could hear him. fractured moans of your names would echo off his walls as he pictured your tongue slipping over his bottom lip before he’d push his own pink and warm muscle into your mouth.

he felt like some twisted pervert, a peeping tom at your intimate image, utterly obsessed with his ex-girlfriend in degenerate ways.

but, the taste—your taste… it was unforgettable.

the sound of your voice as you pleaded for him to go faster, go harder, or even when simple whimpers were all you could muster as he pounded into you.

the mere thought had pre leaking from his slit and rolling down the veins of his pink length. his grip tightened, slender fingers and veiny hand squeezing for that sweet relief.

tossing his head back onto the headrest, he imagined trailing his fingers down the skin of your waist, gripping it and plowing down into you. your small fingers would make their way onto his shoulders, his back, his forearms to mark him and claw for any sense of mercy from his ruthless pace.

he knew you loved it, though.

he could hear you calling out his name as that familiar coil tightened in his gut, spinning and spinning—

“yes, baby… ngh, m-my girl i’m fuck i-i’m so sorry…” he whimpered out, pure lust rolling off his tongue.

“...satoru-“

his eyes flipped open and he could feel his heart skip a couple of beats. that voice… it wasn’t in his head.

with slow deliberation, gojo turned his head to the doorway.

and there you stood. hand on the doorknob to his door, still wearing your uniform, a few bundles of paper and books in your other hand and your jaw slacked.

but your eyes weren’t on his, or the violating display and mess in his lap. no, it was on his desk.

pretty and innocent orbs bearing onto the printed out image of your thighs on his table, along with a few ropes of his seed from his previous rounds that day.

your breath quickened and he could see the way your mouth trembled to say something, anything. that was when your eyes welled up and gojo felt his heart drop. ripping your gaze from his desk, you walked the books to his bed and turned back to his doorway.

with your back turned to him, you murmured, “professor w-wanted me to drop these off since you uh, missed lecture for your meet.” gojo had been busy with his two out-of-city tournaments, debate and basketball, this past week and was only now catching up.

before he could respond, you stepped out of the room, a small sob leaving your lips, and shutting the door behind you.

gojo felt a lump rise in his throat, and swallowed hard. shame and embarrassment washed over him, along with regret for making you see that. you must hate him now, which was all he could think.

he needed to fix this.

scrambling to shove his cock back into his sweats, he hurried to the bathroom to wash his hands and threw the door open, practically running out of the dorm room and down the hall, frantically searching for you before you could disappear.

he spotted your retreating figure near the stairwell door, before you walked inside, forearms wiping at your face.

following suit, he ran in and called your name at the top of the steps, panting slightly.

you turned your head, looking up at gojo with wet eyes. his grip on the knob tightened, his knuckles nearly turning white.

with your heart rate thrumming in your ears, you found yourself frozen as he neared you, walking down the steps until he stood on the one right above yours and towered over you.

his fresh scent wafted into your nose, a smell you’d missed dearly that made your nose twitch. when you had broken up with him, you didn’t give him any explanation as to why. just simply stating that you had lost feelings and wanted to focus on school.

of course, anyone who knew satoru gojo knew that he wouldn’t let it end there. he had pleaded and begged and bothered you for weeks until you flat out told him that you were disgusted by it all. it wasn’t true, not one bit. every inch of you craved him, wanted—no, needed to be with him.

but after the secret meeting with his parents, they had made it very clear what kind of future they wanted for their son. not one with a girl who had no societal standing, a mere student at his university. he was promised to the daughter of another major corporation and for a merger to occur, the sole heir of gojo group, he must marry their daughter.

gojo had fought it with his parents, day in and day out, and one day they just gave up. he told you that there was a possibility that he was free to avoid this arranged marriage. until his parents practically threatened to make both your life and gojos life, a living hell. they said they would make the two of you hate each other.

so you stepped away. you let yourself distance from him, pushing yourself to believe that this was for the better and he would be happier in that arranged marriage. allowing gojo to think you wanted nothing to do with him.

but as he neared you now, you were scared he could see the small ways your body betrayed you—your hand twitching to touch him, your pupils dilated, goosebumps prickling your skin and your mouth parting just slightly, enough for him to hear your soft breathing.

he sounded out your name, his eyes darting between your left and right one’s. “i’m so sorry you had to… i’m sorry. jesus, i didn’t mean for you to see that,” he breathed out, fingers twitching to come to your side and gently caress you.

when you had walked into his room, the sweet sound of his moans filled your ears and the display before you had a familiar feeling pooling in your gut. he was an idiot—he hadn’t even noticed that he had left his door unlocked, which you had twisted open after a few unanswered knocks, nor did he notice you standing there and of course he was too stuck in his fantasies to hear you calling out his name a couple of times.

but when your eyes landed on his desk and the name trickling from his plush, cherry and wet lips—your heart nearly stopped. that picture… you remember taking it. and here he was, pleasuring himself to the thought of you. touching himself in some fantasy and imagining doing god knows what to you.

you’d never seen him like this. this distraught and frantic, milky strands of his locks sticking to his forehead and adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. he looked carnal, primal. the grunts that left his mouth rippled immense pleasure over your body and you relished in it. you missed it.

and then that familiar wave of guilt washed over you. you had broken his heart and left him to pick up the pieces. it was obvious he still felt for you after all these months of you avoiding him.

calling out his name to announce your presence, you weren’t expecting the familiar feeling to be bitter on your tongue, making your gut twist. you had no right to intrude like this, eyes welling up in an undeserved longing.

he looked flustered and you set the books you had forgotten you were holding onto his bed before hurrying out.

the tears came faster than you expected, feeling as if your heart was beating too loudly in your ears and you held back your sobs.

yet, he followed you out into the stairwell. why? was he upset that you had intruded so rudely? or maybe he had something to say to you after all this time—pent up anger and frustration to release onto you.

but no. right now, his face searched yours in what looked to be worry, concern painting his expression and he even lettered an apology?

“n-no,” you mumbled and you saw the way he flinched, hearing your voice again. “i shouldn’t have just walked in… ‘m sorry.”

he turned away from you, wrapping his hand over his nape and sighing. “didn’t mean to make you cry. i honestly didn’t think i’d get to talk to you again… i wish it’d been on,” he coughs and scratched his head, “better circumstances.”

you looked up to meet his gaze and saw a gentle, familiar smirk creeping upon his lip. he found this funny? you couldn’t help but mimic his expression, a soft chuckle leaving your lips.

at the time, you had no idea how much hearing your laughter healed him.

“maybe better circumstances could’ve been you finishing,” you teased, feeling your cheeks flush at the dirty comment.

his brow arched and he slid his hands into his pockets, head tilting and studying your expression. “you don’t mind that i… get off to you?”

the heat that pooled in your cheeks only got warmer, hearing his low voice make such a lewd comment. “n-no, not at all. i really don’t mind. i didn’t even know you still had any pictures of mine,” you rambled, lowering your gaze to your fidgeting fingers.

“like hell if i’d delete anything of yours.”

your head snapped back up to meet his gaze, his eyelids low as he watched you. what the hell does that mean?

“you didn’t?”

“i meant everything i had told you back then. that you were my one and only. even if you don’t want me…” he trailed off, lifting a hand to your face and your breathing stopped. using those slender fingers of his, he curled a strand behind your ear and you leaned into the touch, a whimper nearly leaving your throat at the action. “i’ll only ever want you.”

every nerve in your body was on fire, feeling your knees nearly buckle at the touch of his you so dearly missed.

“please,” you pleaded out breathlessly, eyes shutting as you nuzzled your cheek into his hand. tears welled in your eyes as your fists clamped shut, your entire body now remembering its resolve. “forget about me.”

“no. i don’t know where i went wrong, my love. fuck. i’ll die before i do that. i just need to fix whatever i did and then you’ll want me again… i’ll figure it out.”

how did he look so handsome when he sounded so toxic? so needy.

moving your cheek from his hand, you turned away and bit your lip so hard you nearly drew blood. “i’ve already forgotten all about you. save yourself the hurt and just… do the same.” despite your nerves, your voice steeled itself and came out even colder than you’d expected it.

he placed his hand onto your forearm and squeezed, firm but gently, as his gaze pierced through your back. “that’s a fucking lie and we both know it.”

“i can’t keep doing this. you can’t keep doing this. it’s exhausting and,” you felt your voice cracking as you imagined all the nights you’ve sobbed yourself to sleep due to the aching in your chest, a corroded hole that wouldn’t stop bleeding. “it doesn’t matter how either of us feel. w-we can’t be together,” you spat, refusing to meet his gaze.

his chest heaved, confusion and anger bubbling to the surface at your stubborn resolve. “who the fuck says we can’t be together?” his growl made your stomach twist.

you couldn’t reply. you’ve already said too much and mentally slapped yourself for it. you couldn’t tell him that his parents would never give him the blessing of your relationship, so you kept your mouth shut.

but this was all news to gojo, there had always been a piece of the puzzle missing and he was only now realizing where he could start.

he spoke out your name in such a flat and dry tone that the guilt in your chest only blossomed. “who the fuck said something to you?”

before you could reply, someone had pushed the door open at the top of the steps and you wrenched your hand from gojos grasp, basically pushing him away.

quickly wiping your tear stained cheeks with your hands, you turned to meet his gaze with a whisper. “goodbye, satoru.”

and with that, you hurried back down the stairs and out of the stairwell. you had left gojo standing there in confusion, his heart and mind racing with pain and confusion.

────────────────────────

gojo spent the next couple days, attempting to track you down. however, you, ever the avoider, managed to slip from his predatory search and basically locked yourself in the confines of your friends dorm room.

“why don’t you just talk to him?”

stuffing your head into her pillow, you let out a loud sigh and kicked the bed.

“because, shoko, i know what he’s like. he won’t just… roll over and accept his parents saying no to us. he’ll make sure to never leave my side, he’s stubborn like that and it’ll make it hard for the both of us. i can’t turn him against his family.”

“you’re stubborn just like him. s’like you were made for each other,” she drawled, tapping away at her phone without even sparing you a glance.

propping yourself up in your side, you watched the way her lips curled up at the device illuminating her face. “who’re you texting all giddy?”

“utahime,” she stated plainly, waving her phone in your face then going back to texting her.

“and you say i’m stubborn,” you whined, laying on your back and staring at your ceiling. “why don’t you just ask her out, you idiot?”

“because, stupid, there’s a system to it. a method to my madness. i’ve got it all planned out and it’s gonna be a night to remember.”

she continued to ramble about her marvelous plans at swooping the shorter girl off of her feet and they made you a tad bit jealous, melancholic even. your mind rolled back to the day gojo had asked you out, inviting you to one of his basketball games where he made the winning shot then pulled out a giant poster in front of the entire gym reading “i’d love to be the star player in your game of love.”

everyone talked about it for weeks to come and you couldn’t help but relish in it. gojo had a way of making you feel like the only girl in the world.

“knock knock. anyone home?” without you noticing, shoko had made her way over to you and was tapping your skull, making you seat her hand away. “what’s got you so focused you can’t hear me yelling at ‘cha?”

you shook your head, propping yourself up on your elbows. “sorry. what were you saying?”

she waltzed over to her desk and grabbed her bag that was slung over the chair. “i’m staying at utahime’s tonight. so you get the dorm to yourself, you don’t need to go back to yours. i know you wanna avoid him at any cost.”

you nodded your head and gave her a soft smile while she watched you, a bit of careful concern washing over her face. “you gonna be okay?”

“mhm! i’ve got my manhwa and my snacks. i’ll be perfectly fine. make sure to use protection!”

the last comment had you giggling and her slithering out of the dorm room with a final goodbye.

the next couple hours, you tossed and turned in shokos bed, flipping through the pages of your manhwa and snacking on your pretzels. once it had neared midnight, you realized you hadn’t brought any pajamas or skin care this morning so you slid a pair of sneakers on and left the dorm room.

shokos dorm was only a few blocks from yours. the walk over was quick and you hurried up the steps to the second floor and into the hall where your room was.

as you neared, you noticed a figure propped up on the floor outside of your room. you warily slowed down and squeezed your eyes to make out who was so close to your room.

“shit,” you murmured, realizing who it was. but before you could turn around, his head popped up and those cerulean orbs connected with yours. his face looked tired, eyes heavy with exhaustion. yet, he jumped to his full height and made his way towards you in the short hall.

you couldn’t escape now. he would just chase you down. for now, you’d just have to figure out a way to push him away.

he stopped before you, those beautiful ocean eyes of his assessing you. “are you okay? where have you been?” that velvety, low voice of his was laced with a concern that guilted you. he was worried?

“at a friends,” you mumbled and looked past him, wondering if you could outrun him to your dorm.

his hand twitched as his gaze made its way down your casual outfit. “…your boyfriends?”

your head nearly snapped to match his gaze, basically ogling as he anticipated the worst. “what?”

“do you have a boyfriend? is that who you’ve been staying with these past couple days?”

your eyes observed that familiar jealous glint he got, the clenching of his jaw and the furrowing of his brows.

maybe if he thought you had a boyfriend then he would move on, leaving you in his past.

“y-yes. i’ve been… staying with him.”

he let out the most twisted scoff you’d ever heard, turning his head and gritting his teeth. you’d never seen him this angry before, his eyes glowing with a murderous intent.

“does he make you feel better than me?” he asked, still not meeting your gaze.

“w-what?” how were you supposed to answer this and what exactly did he mean?

slowly turning his head to meet your gaze, you felt your body tremble under his frustrated expression, the rage nearly radiating off of him.

“does he fuck better than me?”

your mouth nearly went slack, trembling as you struggled to answer. what were you supposed to say?

he let out a tsk, along with a bitter laugh. “s’what i thought,” he drawled, inching closer to you. you stepped backwards as he preyed on you until your back hit a wall.

lifting a hand, he placed it beside your head and leaned in. you could hear his inhale as he breathed in your scent. his exhale was shaky, as if he couldn’t tolerate letting it out. “baby…”

you didn’t mean to let out a whiny “mhm,” as if he had commanded answer from you, or you had missed the endearment.

“can i touch you?”

when he had pushed you against the wall, you had shut your eyes in instinct, too afraid of his close presence and how it would make you act. but now, they fluttered back open and you had full view of his gorgeous features.

greedily, you took them all in—his snowy and silky hair you remembered the feeling of under your tight grip, those lovedrunk, blue eyes of his that unraveled you under his gaze, those lips you missed kissing until you couldn’t breathe, that jawline you’d caressed whenever he’d touch you, that throat of his you remember leaving spotted with love bites, oh the list could just go on.

gojo enjoyed watching you watch him, letting yourself go possibly for the last time. and if it was for the last time, he’d be okay with it. he couldn’t let understand why you didn’t want him anymore but he would allow you to come back to him for whatever you needed from him.

you nodded slowly, a gulp rippling down your throat as your hands came up to his chest and rested there.

“touch me.”

the words that trickled from your lips went straight to your ex-boyfriends cock, blood rushing to his erection and creating a tent in his slacks.

his eyes trailed down to your lips and he let out a breathy exhale as you so greedily savored in his scent you dearly missed. the lingering fragrance of his signature body wash, fresh and cloying like the sweets he had always consumed.

“yeah?” his voice was low and sultry as he lifted a hand to your waist, his fingers ghosting over the dip. your back curved just slightly, arousal rippling through your body and trembling from his light touch.

your gaze was glued to his lips before sliding up to his eyes and you had to stifle a whine. with low lids, he was watching you with such a fervor that looked almost primal. like a tiger that’d been starved for days and planted its eyes on its newest meal.

“where do you want me to touch you, baby?” those simple words blossomed a heat in your chest, your heart thrumming in your ears as your lust began to take over.

you knew you shouldn’t—it would be wrong to give in again when you knew the two of you wouldn’t work out. the thought alone was enough to well tears in your eyes.

“hey, look at me.” with his slender fingers, he lifted your chin to match his gaze. leaning in, he breathed gently against your lips, “don’t think too much.”

that was enough for you to push forward and crash your lips against his, wrapping your arms above his shoulders. your small fingers found their way into his snowy tresses, running your digits across the familiar silky feeling and tugging him closer.

he took the chance to lift you up, his large hands finding their way to the underside of your plush thighs. wrapping your legs around him, you didn’t mean to let out a moan into his mouth when his crotch rubbed against your clothes crotch.

“f-fuck,“ gojo said, bowing his back ever so slightly at the contact that only made him more sensitive. he took the chance to push you against the wall and his fingers gripped against the flesh of your ass.

your tongue always found its way pushing into his mouth, attempting to fight for dominance and losing every time to his. he found it cute and the thought that you haven’t changed had his heart beating even harder against his ribs.

“n-not here, ngh,” you whined out, pulling from the kiss and looking around the empty hall. gojo grinned, eyes never leaving your flustered figure. your cheeks were flushed and there was a bit of saliva on your lip.

leaning in, he licked it away and chuckled. “still not a fan of the whole exhibitionist thing?”

slapping his arm, you felt the heat creeping up your neck and a frown crossing your face. “put me down.”

he pouted but agreed, letting you down gently and towering over you. digging into your pockets, you pulled out your keys and walked around your ex-boyfriend to unlock your door.

pushing it open, you shoved your hands into your pockets and signaled with your head that he could come in.

as he carefully entered your space, his eyes flickered around your dorm room that had changed quite a lot since he’d last been here.

when the two of you first started dating, your room was adorned with soft pastels and colors, along with plenty of pretty decor. he knew what a girly girl you were at heart.

but now, as he stepped in, he’d barely recognized the space. it was darker, with blackout curtains and lacked the color it initially had. there was little vibrancy and it seemed you’d gotten rid of a lot of things.

“you plannin’ on transferring?” he teased, though the underlying concern in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. the sight would have anyone wondering if you were in the process of moving out.

“no, i just…” you trailed off, feeling a bit vulnerable under his gaze. he peered around your room with his hands clasped behind his back and studied his surroundings. you began fidgeting with your fingers as he turned to look at you. “…got sick of all the color.”

he raised an eyebrow, walking over to you as those blue orbs flitted over your figure. “and why’s that?”

you shrugged, unable to look him in the eyes as he loomed over you.

“talk to me, baby.”

your eyes welled up, but you blinked the tears away rapidly. a hand stroked the top of your head before resting against the back and tilting your head upward.

gojo could feel his heart twist, seeing the saddened expression on your face, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

the words tumbled from your lips quicker than you wanted them to, “i missed you.”

you could hear the way his breath hitched, pupils dilating and darting between your left and right eye. there was an unreadable expression flickering across his face as if he was thinking something through—before he leaned downwards and placed another kiss against your lips. this kiss was different, it was less needy than before—instead laced with a heavy longing that pulled tears from your eyes.

cupping your cheeks, his large hands rested on the sides of your face and angled your head upwards for more access to your mouth that trembled against his.

the tears trailed down your cheeks, and gojo could taste salt on his tongue. your small hands found themselves against his bulking biceps, squeezing for some semblance of stability. he walked you backwards, until you felt your bed against the back of your knees, making you sit down.

with the kiss now broken, your wet eyes looked up at gojo who looked at you with an unreadable expression. his hand continued to stroke your hair as he took in your beautiful form. “you wanna do this?”

you nodded your head, refusing to break eye contact as he brushed his thumb over your cheek to wipe away a tear, then pushed that digit between your parted lips.

pressing down on your tongue, you held back the need to gag.

“so pretty and messy f’me, ‘n i haven’t even done anything yet.” those cerulean orbs of his flickered across your tear-stained cheeks, puffy eyes, quivering lips and the sight only made him harder.

he continued to press down and your hands found themselves against his wrist as a gag left your lips.

his other fingers cupped your chin and pushed you down until your back hit your comforter, rolling your tongue against his thumb.

you felt a cool touch slip under your hoodie and find its way to the hem of the sweatpants you were wearing. tugging them down, gojo left your bottom half in only your panties.

you could hear a scoff leave his lips as your eyes glossed over with lust, boring into the ceiling. “you get this wet for him?”

with furrowed brows, you glanced your head down at gojo who was staring at your lower half. the flush in your cheeks only got worse as you attempted to shut your legs and he used his free hand to push your thighs open with consecutive tsks.

seeing you like this, something in gojo’s head clicked.

“ya’ know, you don’t gotta lie about having a boyfriend,” his hot breath warmed your panties and just then you could finally feel just how soaked you were.

this whole ordeal felt embarrassing—it was like he could see right through your facade but you were adamant about keeping it up. “m’ not l-lying,” you whined after he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your legs further apart, causing you to squirm against his firm grasp.

a curious finger of his trailed up on the wet spot through your panties and you let out a stifled gasp, arching your back and gripping your sheets.

“s’ not what she’s telling me,” he groaned, his voice an octave lower and practically growling into your clothed cunt.

“shut up,” you attempted to spat but it came out breathy, wriggling yourself to free yourself form his grasp. he let out another patronizing laugh and removed his hands from your thighs.

you finally looked down after being too shy to meet his gaze, then seeing him walk over to your bedroom door to lock it.

an audible gulp of yours echoed through your room, finally understanding rhetorical situation you had gotten yourself into, as he turned back to you, feeling the pure lust rippling off of his form. he towered over you again, tugging his shirt off and handing it to you.

“can’t have you bein’ too loud. bite into this if you gotta,” he smirked down at you, knowing you were gonna, and kissing your jaw gently before trailing a hand down to your panties and working them off with such a teasingly slow pace. while he did so, he admired you, white locks dangling from his head and framing him so beautifully.

your hands found themselves up to his hair and tried to pull him up to your lips but he wouldn’t budge. your hazy stare found his eyes hovering over yours, a confused and somewhat fucked out expression already painting your face.

before you could ask why he wasn’t doing anything, cold fingers found themselves brushing your entrance and pushing into you.

your mouth dropped into a sweet o shape, one that gojo mimicked with a mischievous grin, breathing out with you as you did. “still tight as ever, huh?”

a loud moan echoed through your room as those 5-inch long double digits plunged even deeper, finding your sweet spot, the same area he’d discovered the first time he had you like this.

but before the pleasure could continue, those digits pulled themselves out and an empty whine left your lips.

“tch. what did i say? y’don’t need the entire campus to remember how good i make you feel, hm?” he grabbed the shirt you had tossed aside in a frenzy and held it to your face. “bite.”

and that’s what you did. his commanding tone had you clenching around nothing. your teeth clamped down on the cottony fabric, the scent of him enough to have your eyes glaze over once more.

“good girl,” he drawled out, leaning up to place a kiss to your forehead before inching his fingers back in. your gummy walls clamped down on the intrusion, your juices oozing out and drenching his hand.

“mmm, how’s that feel sweetheart?”

all you could do was grit your teeth down into the fabric to mask your whines and moans. it was hard for you to keep quiet—gojo remembered and loved it. he relished in the thought that he could overstimulate you from barely working you open and you were always so loud.

your lack of response only made him all the more feral, pushing those slim fingers further into you and you let out the most sultry whine into his shirt he’s ever heard. drool trickled down your chin, his scissoring fingers nearly pushing you to the edge.

the last time you’d spent the night with someone, it’d been with some asshole you met at the bar and he gave you a total of 10 seconds of foreplay along with orgasming inside of you with a rubber after 3 seconds.

you’d thus been celibate.

so this treatment, after nights spent with your hands in your panties and moaning your ex-boyfriends name to yourself, you’d sorely forgotten just how good he really made you feel and how you lacked at mimicking his hands.

gojo knew it too. he called bullshit now—with his newly learned information giving him the justified confidence of working you like this.

a coil began knotting in your gut, finding yourself lifting your hips to match his speed, the heel of his hand slapping against the hood of your clit. your fingernails clawed against his back, leaving red marks as you neared your high, jaw tensing.

while you thought it couldn’t get any worse, gojo leaned down and sucked on the exact spot he knew would have you seeing stars, his snowy tresses tickling your bare skin. his free hand found its way up your hoodie and began kneading with your buds and squeezing the mounds. those thighs of his pushed the underside of yours so wide, keeping you nice and spread for him.

you had no idea how he was stimulating all of these spots at once but all you knew was that you were close, and he did, too.

before you could gush all over his fingers, he swiftly pulled them out and lifted himself off of you. he wasted no time pulling your hoodie off of you and tossing it to the side with haste. he moved down and angled his head between your thighs once more, admiring the mess he’d created.

“fuck, i missed this,” he groaned before nudging his face between your folds.

a stifled yelp left your lips, quickly grabbing his shirt and covering your mouth once more, preparing yourself to keep quiet. you could swear, through the daze of lust, that you could hear him whisper “good girl” into your sex.

like a man deprived of water, he began lapping up at your juices messily, his tongue diving in and out of your folds with vicious tenacity, slurp sounds resonating through your room.

“you, ngh, taste as good as i unh… remember.”

your free hand that wasn’t muffling your moans found its way to gojos hair, unsure if the overstimulation wanted him to delve deeper or to get away.

he pushed his wet and long tongue through that ring of resistance.

“f-fuck… ‘toru,” you whined through his shirt, and that had his tongue pausing. he pulled away and met your needy gaze, your juices mixed with his saliva dripping down his chin. he pulled the shirt from your mouth like a madman and tossed it.

“say that again, baby.”

you blinked, an innocent confusion on your face before he began ravaging you once more.

“slow mnh… slow d-down,” you gasped, eyes widening at the sudden stimulation.

“not mmmf… till… you say that… fuck, again.”

his tongue made one long languid strip up your throbbing core that had your thighs going weak, to which he brought them over his shoulder. his nose nuzzled against your bundle of nerves that had you nearly pulling his hair out . “r-right t-there mmmf.. ‘toru!”

his fingers slid back inside and pushed against that sweet spot, and with a bite of those canines over your clit, it was enough to send you over the edge and releasing your pleasure through a strangled and broken scream of his name once more.

those dexterous digits continued to work you open, riding out your high on his fingers and face and releasing an ocean of juices along the lower half of his face. once you’d calmed down, he pulled away and slipped those fingers into his mouth, the lewd display making you twitch.

“sweet as a cupcake,” he compared, teasingly licking his fingers and winking at you. the view made you giggle and cover your flushed and sweaty face.

“oh, come on… you don’t want a taste?” pulling your hands from your face with his, the admiring smile on gojo’s face made you obediently drop your jaw with a grin, to which he spit in. “swallow.”

gojo loved how obedient you were, towering over you and brushing a hand over your forehead to remove the stray hairs. placing a hand on your waist, he watched you and another grin tugged at his lips. “sweetheart, you will never fail to astonish me with your beauty.”

the sudden confession had your eyes widening as a familiar knot now spun in your core, your pussy clenching around nothing. “toru’…” you trailed off, eyes searching his.

“yes, my love?” the endearment had your mind spinning with infatuation and lust, as if your eyes could gloss over again.

“n-need you,” you breathed out, angling your hips to his clothed crotch.

at your confession, gojo wasted no time slipping his slacks and boxers off and your gaze flickered down to his length, eyes widening at his angry, pink and pale shaft. you remembered your ex-boyfriend was massive, but seeing it again after all this time was truly shocking.

“don’t worry, we’ve made it fit before,” his cheeky comment came out breathy as he rubbed his tip against your drooling folds, mixing with his premature cum and slipping around. your hips lifted to push against his dick, attempting to slide him in.

a stifled gasp left gojo’s lips, lashes fluttering, as he finally pushed forward, barely an inch in as he squeezed your hips with such a grip that you were sure you’d have bruises by tomorrow.

“f-fuck, you’re, mmnh, so tight…” did you just make gojo stutter? yes. yes you did. you were the only person to have the smartest and richest person on campus stutter.

you brought your arms underneath his and hugged his body to yours, his forearms falling beside your smaller frame. the size difference between the two of you was previously forgotten, as you gazed directly into his neck as he shoved himself deeper. to stifle your moans that were increasing in volume, he brought a hand up to cover your mouth and finally bottomed out.

a scream was muffled into his hand, the stretch so painful but so good.

“doin’ so g-good for me, m’angel,” he breathed out, his meaty tip kissing your cervix. he was so deep in you, your eyes widened as you early choked on your breathing, his cock shoving into your lungs.

through his painfully slow thrust, he noticed you’d grown quiet, lifting his wet palm from your lips, drool trickling down your cheeks with a fucked out expression. he was nervous you were on the verge of passing out.

just gently, he tapped your cheek and halted any movement inside of you. “baby, breathe. look at me.”

your eyes glossed over to him as your chest began lifting in breaths again, the influx of air only making you groan out again. “there we go,” he drawled out with such a confidence, lifting his hand to cover your mouth again and thrusting slowly to allow you to adjust.

with lashes clamped shut, you braced yourself for each sloshing jam of his cock into your pussy. with the hand not muffling you, he wrapped his arm around the top of your head to push you down onto his length, utterly manhandling you.

your screams rattled out into his hand, his breathing picking up as he huffed out, shoving himself deeper and deeper with each push. “s-so good for me, so mmm fucking perfect, you s’made f’me,” he breathed out, praisingly. and soon enough, the cock drunk girl you were, watched your ex-boyfriend become entirely pussy drunk, babbling out every thought in his dazed mind.

“takin’ me s’well, gonna fill… gonna fill you up,” he groaned. “gonna stuff ya with ma babies.”

eyes widening open, you met his gaze down at you, and the man looked crazed off of your cunt. “that… that okay? pump ya full of my… my fucking seed?”

his words made you clamp down on him, the thought rushing straight to your core as your high neared.

“f-fuck, baby. don’t d-do that mmmngh. need ya to l-let me know.”

like a mad woman, you bobbed your head up and down, legs wrapping around his waist. a fucked out grin lifted on his lips, pushing himself somehow even deeper into you with each thrust.

“yeah? want me to fuck you full of my babies?”

another whiney groan left your lips as you nodded your head up and down, shutting your eyes.

an idea popped into gojo’s head at the thought. “gotta make sure t-this… sticks,” he groaned and you felt shuffling. he lifted both hands far above your head, gripping your comforter and shoved himself so deep inside of you that it sent you over the edge, sexually and physically.

without his hand to muffle your sounds, you were positive you’d receive a noise complaint now.

“fuck! toru’!” you screamed, pussy clamping down on his shaft as liquid began to spray from your cunt.

you were squirting. gojo made you squirt.

the wet feeling of your juices along with your tight and snug cunt had the veins of his length bulging, before the slit released ropes upon ropes of cum into your cervix, bullying their way inside so painfully yet so pleasurably.

he moaned out your name, shoving you up and up your bed with each thrust as ribbons of seed leaked from his tip and dribbled out of your pussy. the man made sure to allow the both of you to properly ride out your highs, vein in his forehead bulging as his breaths shuttered.

your arms and legs fell slack against the wet sheets as he pulled out of you, admiring the juices drip from your nearly abused cunt. the orgasm had you twitching and trembling beneath him.

sleep could’ve taken you then and there, but the fluttering in your heart remained. glancing up at your boyfriend, he folded your legs to the side to give you some semblance of dignity, then walked to the bathroom. hot and wet rag in hand, he sat beside you and cleaned you up gently and cooed you with each soothing wipe.

“toru’,” you whispered, watching him quietly.

“yes, sweetheart?” he continued to clean you up but turned his gaze to you. how could someone look so pretty after a session like that? the afterglow was insane, making your heart wrench.

“i’m sorry,” you muffled out, steeling yourself to push him away. you’d managed to stay away from him for so long, the thought of having to undo all of both of your healing from each other sounded exhausting.

he watched you quietly before setting the rag on your nightstand, then pulled your back up to his chest. leaning against your headboard, he held you in his arms and stroked your thigh softly, tracing imaginary circles.

“i spoke with my parents.”

your head spun around to meet his gaze, the unsubtly of your reaction earning a chuckle from the white haired man. “put two n’ two together the other day, when you said we couldn’t be together.”

you clasped your eyes shut, turning away in embarrassment at your idiocy. he obviously figured that someone that wasn’t you, was keeping the two of you from being together. aka his evil parents.

“ya’ know, i think you did that on purpose.”

“h-huh?” what does that mean? you turned back to him and furrowed your brows.

“think you just wanted your knight-in-shining-armor to come and swoop down to fix things. that’s my pillow princess, everyone,” he teased, making you elbow his side with giggles when he tickled yours.

“…were they mad?” you asked after a few seconds, turning your gaze to his large hand on your bare lap and fiddling with it.

“fuck yeah. but so what? when i get my girl pregnant, they can’t do nothin’,” he stated plainly.

the thought made your eyes widen, realizing the situation you just put yourself in after your fucked out decision. “well. nothing better than being knocked up in college, don’t’cha think?”

pushing his head into the crook of your neck, he let out a low chuckle that made you squeeze his hand. “think your boyfriend’ll be pissed off?”

“oh yeah, my totally real, not fake, totally not imaginary boyfriend? he’ll kill you. can you handle that?”

“course’ i can, sweetheart. i’m the strongest on campus.”

[prettyley]

"How many?"

"What?"

"How many guys fucked my pussy?"

He was angry, surely it's not like he didn't talk to any girls so you were confused as to why he was so pissed. A little friends with benifits, you both have a little crush on each other, always flirting but never having enough courage to reveal the truth. He gets a little grumpy when someone tries to hit on you and you get a little mean when another girl plays with the back of his hair. Ok, sure, he's got his arm wrapped around you at parties and you hold his drink when he needs to get something from his car, and sure maybe you let him eat you out on the top of your kitchen counter until he makes you see stars and sure you've cried as he fucks to into you as you ride him like you don't have somewhere to be tomorrow. And, like, maybe he's finger fucked you to the point you have to beg him to stop, and he promises he will but the smirk on his face mixed the fake soothing of his voice tells you he's nowhere near done. He'll fuck you like he's in love with you, and you cream on his cock like a loving wife but you're both silly.

You two accidentally ghosted each other- ok well, you didn't text him back after he asked for his hoodie and he was just too stubborn to double text so-

What like two months passed?

Silly girl. Loyal to her silly situationship. A silly friends with benefits.

"None- no one, I-" you compose yourself, why on earth is he being so possessive, "you shouldn't even care, I'll let anyone I want fuck me."

He's calm. But it's just an act, he's fuming on the inside.

"You got it wrong, baby... This pussy," he smacks your cunt, automatically making your thighs clench around his hand, now allows him to cup your most sensitive parts. His palm rough on your clit and his fingers threatening the entrance of your hole. "This pussy belongs to me."

[sixeyesonathiel]

BITE YOUR TONGUE, I LIKE IT BETTER BLOODY

pairing: bully satoru x manipulative reader

synopsis — gojo satoru hates you. you smile too sweetly, lie too easily, and wear your innocence like armor. he’s known you forever—known how sharp your claws are beneath the lace. but no one else sees it. no one but him. and when he throws milk at your head in front of the whole cafeteria, he swears it’s just hate. but behind stairwells and bitten lips, hate starts to taste a lot like want.

tags: enemies with benefits, public humiliation, dubcon elements (consent is a blurry concept when you're both assholes), manipulation, obsession, power imbalance, mutual degradation, possessiveness, toxic dynamic, satoru is an asshole, reader is worse, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, swallowing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie. 5.8k wc, MDNI.

a/n: another very detailed explicit smut because you guys loved shy reader sucking the soul out of frat!gojo. no thoughts, just enemies rawdogging behind the gym stairs. plot? not here. soulmates? unfortunately. enjoy the filth before i drop my wordcount-heavy apothecary diaries au this week :3

satoru gojo despises your guts.

he makes sure you know it, too.

"oops," he says, voice dripping with false sympathy just before the milk carton arcs clean through the air and smacks the back of your head. it bursts on impact, cold and humiliating, soaking into your blouse and turning it nearly see-through. thin cotton clings to your skin—your shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, the delicate outline of lace beneath. the chill bites into your nerves, crawling down your spine like a taunt.

there's a beat. the cafeteria shifts. chatter falters. a few heads turn. someone drops a fork.

you stiffen just for a second. one inhale held too long. then your hand rises to touch your hair, wet and dripping. you blink slowly, lashes damp, before pasting on the kind of smile reserved for misunderstandings and small kindnesses. your lips tremble—not from emotion, but as if suppressing laughter. like you’re charmed by the absurdity of it all.

"my hand slipped," satoru adds from behind, leaning one elbow on the table like he's bored. his tie's loose, shirt half untucked, and the sleeves rolled high enough to show veined forearms. his white hair falls just enough to cast a faint shadow over one eye. he grins, tongue pressing to his cheek, teeth catching on the corner of his lower lip like he's chewing the inside of it. there’s milk on his fingers. he wipes it on his slacks. "maybe don’t stand around like a target next time, princess."

he calls you that like it’s a slur.

someone snorts into their lunch tray. a few others glance up with vague concern, but not enough to intervene. not enough to think it's serious.

you turn with a lightness that's infuriating. wet hair clinging to your cheek, uniform plastered to your back. you look ridiculous—soaked and humiliated—and yet you smile. your fingers trail delicately down your blouse like you’re inspecting damage on fine silk.

"that’s alright, satoru," you say sweetly, as if he’d bumped into you in the hallway. your voice is soft, gentle as a hand on a child’s head. "you’ve always had poor coordination."

a few students murmur agreement. someone chuckles. the tension breaks. someone tosses a crumpled napkin toward the bin, missing it entirely.

but not for him.

he watches the twitch of your lip—the briefest break in the mask that no one else sees. no one but him. and that’s what drives him insane.

because he’s known you since kindergarten. known the tantrums, the fights, the scratches behind school buildings. he remembers how you’d corner some poor kid together—mocking, poking, stealing snacks—and how when the teacher showed up, you’d burst into tears and point at him with trembling fingers. he was the bad one. the instigator. the boy who made girls cry. even when your hands were just as dirty. maybe worse.

you’ve always been like this: clever, calculating, cruel in lace and smiles.

and he hates that no one sees it but him.

hates how you float through school like some porcelain saint. all soft glances and kindnesses, like you’re too sweet to harm a fly. how you apologize so readily, voice thick with false guilt. how even your sighs are delicate things, like spun sugar on the tongue.

but he knows. and he won’t let you forget that he knows.

you dab your temple with a napkin, offer a small bow to the room, then walk away. every step deliberate. he watches the way your skirt sways, the soft slap of your wet shoes, the curve of your back visible beneath the soaked fabric. it’s obscene. like you’re doing it on purpose. he knows you are.

his throat tightens. his pants do, too.

fuck.

he shifts, pressing his palm into the table edge to ground himself. his cock throbs anyway. he glances down, jaw ticking, leg bouncing under the table. his tongue flicks over his teeth. he rubs his thumb against the edge of the bench, imagining it’s your pulse.

he hates you.

he hates how every time you laugh, it turns heads. how nanami makes you smile in that quiet way that you don’t give him. how your voice turns feather-soft when you're being praised, how you say “thank you” with bowed lashes and an angel’s lilt. how you look at others like you’re grateful they exist, and how you look at him like you’re grateful he’s suffering.

he hates that you let everyone believe you’re good.

and he hates that you are good—at lying. at playing them. at leaving him hard in the middle of class after pressing a note into his hand that simply read don’t forget to beg.

he still has that note. it’s tucked into the back of his physics notebook, creased and fingerprint-smudged. he looked at it three times yesterday. once during morning announcements. once after gym. once when you passed him a pencil and your fingers brushed.

he’s not even close to done.

not when you keep pushing him to the edge with every infuriating smile, every light laugh shared with someone else. not when your lip gloss tastes like strawberries, and he knows because he tasted it once. in a stairwell. two weeks ago. you kissed him like it meant nothing. then walked away before he could say a word.

he hates you.

and he wants you so fucking bad it makes him sick.

later, behind the gym stairwell—where the walls reek of sweat, rubber soles, and old water—you find him.

there's a hum in the silence, the kind that rings inside your skull. your footsteps echo first, then stop. only the hush of your breath now, quiet and deliberate, like a secret begging to be found. 

he’s already there—slouched against the wall like he’s waiting for something violent. one leg bent, heel hooked behind him, the other stretched out, foot tapping a restless beat against the cracked concrete.

he’s still in his uniform, shirt untucked, collar damp with sweat. the sleeves are rolled up, exposing long forearms slick with effort. his knuckles are red from earlier. a faint bruise darkens near his jaw from sparring. pale strands messily raked back like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. sunglasses gone. his eyes, sharp as cut glass, track your approach with slow disdain.

you take him in, shamelessly running your gaze from his tousled hair to the veins snaking up his forearms, the taut muscles in his chest straining against the fabric of his shirt. your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the subtle flex of his neck, and you feel the heat in your own chest rise at the sight.

something about the way he looks—disheveled, dangerous, and all too aware of his own effect on you—sends a pulse of heat straight through your veins.

he pops a pink lollipop from his mouth, tongue dragging lazily over it before he crushes it between his teeth. the sound snaps the tension like a whip.

“you’re hard,” you murmur, voice syrupy-sweet, almost innocent. almost.

he doesn’t flinch, but the twitch in his jaw gives him away. his eyes drop—low, deliberate—then crawl back up your body like a threat, heat simmering beneath his gaze. his lips part, then press together tight, as if reining something in.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters, but his voice cracks—taut and ragged, like it’s been dragged through too many thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

you tilt your head, lips curling into something too tender to be kind. “too late,” you coo. “you threw milk at my head and came in your pants about it.”

you look pristine—hair ribboned neatly, lip gloss shimmering under the harsh light, skin flawless like lacquered porcelain. beautiful. breakable. except your eyes gleam with something wicked, mean little stars dancing in a galaxy made just for him.

his fists clench at his sides. one thigh shifts, an involuntary twitch. he breathes out too sharp through his nose, like trying to exhale the want.

“you’re such a fucking brat,” he bites, but his voice stumbles on the edge of something more desperate, less controlled.

you only smile wider, slow and knowing, lashes fluttering as you step forward and then lower yourself to your knees. not in surrender. never that. it’s worship with teeth—dangerous, deliberate. your skirts spread around you like spilled sin. the way you look up at him is reverent and ruinous.

his entire body tightens, chest rising like he’s been starved of oxygen. the bulge in his pants throbs with restraint. his hand flinches at his side, like he’s debating whether to reach for you or himself.

you reach first.

he snatches your wrist mid-motion, fingers locking around your pulse with bruising pressure. his touch is trembling, barely keeping it together. his pupils are blown wide, breath shuddering.

you tilt your head, all mock-concern. your voice is honey-laced poison. “you gonna cry?” you whisper. “go on, satoru. tell them i bullied you.”

his lip curls—not quite a smirk, not quite a snarl. a flash of teeth, predatory and unsure. “you’re not in control.”

“then prove it.”

you move slowly, deliberately, fingers curling around the buckle of his belt, the leather cool and smooth under your touch. the scrape of it sliding free pierces the stairwell’s silence, sharp as a blade, bouncing off the concrete like a warning. your knuckles graze the taut fabric of his pants, a fleeting brush that draws a quick, jagged breath from him, raw and unguarded. he’s already throbbing, his cock straining against the material, a dark stain spreading where precum seeps through.

your fingertips linger, pressing just enough to feel the heat pouring off him, the pulse of his desire thrumming against your skin. his legs stiffen, muscles coiling under his slacks, and his hands flex at his sides, curling into loose fists before easing, like he’s wrestling with the urge to touch you.

when you free him, easing the zipper down with a slo I'mw, intentional drag, his cock springs out, flushed a furious red, veins stark, the tip glossy with precum that beads and drips, catching the dim fluorescent light. satoru hisses, shoulders curling inward, the motion abrupt, like he’s been struck. his jaw locks, a tendon pulsing under the skin, and his throat works as he swallows hard, the motion visible. his ice-blue eyes flick down to you, pupils dilated, but they skitter away—to the wall, the ceiling—like he’s dodging your gaze, afraid of what it might cost him to linger.

“pathetic,” you murmur, voice low, barely above a whisper, laced with venom. your hand wraps around the base of his cock, fingers coated in his precum, gripping just enough to make him jerk, a ripple coursing through his frame. you don’t say more—words feel redundant, your focus honed on the weight of him in your palm, the feverish heat, the way he pulses under your touch.

his hand darts to your hair, fingers knotting in the strands, tugging your head back with a force that steals your breath, throat exposed to the cool air. “watch it,” he growls, voice guttural, scraping like he’s dragging it over broken glass.

and yet his thumb brushes your cheek, a fleeting, unsteady graze, soft against the snarl. his hips inch forward, cock nudging closer to your lips, needy, unguarded. his other hand clamps onto the wall behind him, knuckles paling, nails gouging the chipped paint. his chest heaves unevenly, shirt stretching across his pecs, sweat beading at the base of his throat, catching the light.

you don’t respond. your lips curve into a faint, wicked smile, eyes fixed on his cock, hunger consuming you. your tongue darts out, barely skimming the head—a cruel, calculated tease that sends a jolt through him, his legs quivering under the strain.

his reaction is instant, a choked, guttural sound ripping from his throat, raw and fractured. his head snaps back against the concrete, the dull thud echoing, white hair glinting as it spills messily over his eyes. his jaw tightens, lips parting, tongue pressing to his palate like he’s swallowing a curse. his eyes snap shut briefly, lashes stark against his flushed cheeks, then flare open, wild and unfocused, pupils swallowing the blue.

then you start.

your lips part around him, slow, reverent yet vicious, like a predator savoring its prey. you take him inch by inch, tongue gliding along the thick vein with a greed that borders on fixation. spit pools at the corners of your mouth, dripping down his shaft, coating him in a glossy sheen. your hand moves in rhythm, fingers gripping tight, sliding through the mess of precum and saliva, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet stairwell.

you’re consumed, barely pausing for air, lips stretching around his girth, tongue circling the sensitive tip with relentless precision. no words—just the sloppy cadence of your mouth, a low, hungry hum in your throat as you draw him deeper, ravenous. your eyes flick up, catching his chest heaving, abs contracting with every jolt, his fingers tightening in your hair, tugging just enough to sting before they waver, grazing your scalp.

he struggles to breathe, chest rising and falling in fits and starts, shirt plastered to his sweat-damp skin, collar creased and damp. his fingers in your hair flex, then slacken, like he’s battling the urge to steer you. “fuck—fuck—” he chokes, voice splintering, no coherent words, just raw, desperate noise.

his hips jerk, a small, involuntary thrust pushing him deeper into your mouth, and you hum again, the vibration tearing through him. his head tilts back, throat bared, adam’s apple jumping as he swallows hard, a low groan slipping free. his other hand scrapes the wall, nails clawing at the concrete, leaving faint scratches.

you don’t taunt. your focus is absolute, lips gliding over him, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock, slick with saliva and precum. your free hand grips his thigh, nails sinking into the taut muscle, feeling it tense under your touch. saliva drips from your chin, staining his slacks, leaving dark, wet patches.

you take him deeper, throat constricting around him, and he bucks, a sharp, fractured sound bursting from his lips, hips twitching again. your eyes dart up, catching his face contorting—brows furrowed, lips parted, sweat tracing a path down his temple, snagging in his pale hair.

and then he’s coming. too soon, too overwhelming, hot and thick down your throat. you swallow with purpose, slow, deliberate, letting him feel the tight grip of your throat, savoring every pulse, every drop, like you’re claiming him entirely. spit and cum mingle, dripping from your lips, coating your chin in a glossy, obscene mess that catches the dim light. his knees soften, a faint quake in his legs, and his hand in your hair tightens briefly, then releases, fingers quaking as they slide to your jaw.

but you don’t stop.

your mouth keeps working, merciless, lips gliding over his oversensitive cock, tongue swirling with unyielding hunger. your hand strokes the base, slick with his release, relentless, pulling him into a haze of overstimulation. he gasps, nerves raw, eyes snapping open, wide and glassy, pupils blown to hell. “stop—fuck—please—” he chokes, voice shattered, hands fumbling at your shoulders, fingers flexing like he’s torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer. his legs quiver, muscles twitching under your palms, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts, catching in his throat.

you don’t answer. your lips tighten around him, sucking harder, tongue pressing against the sensitive head, coated in the remnants of his release. he jerks, a raw, humiliating sound scraping from his throat, body betraying him as his cock pulses again. his head tips forward, chin against his chest, eyes squeezing shut, lips quivering as he tries to breathe through it. his fingers press into your shoulders, leaving faint marks, and his other hand braces against the wall, knuckles pale, nails digging into the concrete.

and he breaks again, release spilling over your lips, hot and messy, dripping down your chin in glistening trails. he groans, deep and guttural, the sound echoing like a confession. his legs falter, knees nearly buckling, his breath shallow and jagged, a man unraveling.

you lick him clean, slow, deliberate, relishing the salt and heat, the way his skin jumps under your tongue. his hand in your hair slips away, fingers quaking, settling on your neck, lingering like he needs your pulse to anchor him.

you pull back at last, lips swollen, chin slick with his mess, and look up. he’s ruined—pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, sweat beading at his hairline, pale strands plastered to his forehead. his chest surges, shirt clinging to his damp skin, top button undone, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone.

“thought you hated me,” you murmur, voice soft but cutting, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, the motion slow, deliberate, your eyes never leaving his. “thought you were stronger than this.”

he glares down at you, breathless, lips parted, tongue grazing his palate like he’s chewing on a retort. “you—fucking—bitch,” he rasps, voice raw, barely holding together, but his eyes betray him, lingering on your lips, the glossy shine of his cum on your chin, staring too long.

you climb into his lap, slow and deliberate, letting your weight settle against him, your soaked panties beneath your skirt dragging against his thigh with obscene friction.

he groans, low and fractured, his cock stirring again, the tip brushing your stomach, leaving a faint smear of precum. his eyes drop to the dark, wet patch on your underwear, and something in him snaps—his jaw tightens and his fingers press into your hips, hard enough to leave marks.

“soaked,” he mutters, voice hoarse, reverent, like he’s cursing a god. his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and his gaze lifts to yours, dark and ravenous, holding eye contact briefly before dropping again, like he can’t resist. “you fucking get off on breaking me, don’t you?”

“maybe i do,” you whisper, voice silk and poison, leaning in until your lips brush his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “maybe i’ve been getting off on it since we were kids. maybe i knew you’d fold the second i got my hands on you.”

his hands seize your hips, fingers sinking in like he’s bracing against a storm. he pulls you down hard against his thigh, and you gasp, sharp and high, hips rocking instinctively, chasing the searing friction.

your breath catches, a flicker of weakness crossing your face—lips parting, eyes half-lidded for a moment, fingers clutching his shoulders, nails biting into his shirt. he catches it, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, lips twitching into a faint, predatory smirk.

“don’t act like you’re any better,” satoru snaps, voice low and ragged, almost a growl. his hands slide up your sides, thumbs grazing the curve of your ribs, lingering like he’s memorizing you. “you’re dripping like a fucking slut. you’d crawl for this cock if i let you.”

“i don’t crawl,” you hiss, but your voice wavers, betraying the heat pooling in your core, the way your legs press around his. your fingers tighten on his shoulders, gripping the fabric.

“oh, you will,” he says, dark and certain, his hand slipping beneath your panties like he owns you. two fingers slide inside, curling deep, and you choke, walls gripping him, slick and eager. his thumb circles your clit, tight and practiced, and your hips buck before you can stop them, a soft whimper escaping. his eyes lock on yours, unblinking, daring you to look away first.

he flips you with a force that steals your breath, your back slamming against the cold concrete wall, the chill biting into your spine. your hands scramble, nails raking his shoulders, leaving red lines through his shirt. his cock presses against your entrance, slick with your arousal, hot and pulsing, and you shiver, a soft moan slipping free despite yourself.

your eyes half-close, lips quivering, a fleeting vulnerability crossing your face, your breath hitching as you press your teeth into your lower lip.

“don’t,” you warn, voice thin, fraying at the edges, barely holding together. it’s too much—the way he fills the air, the way his touch sears, the way you want him even as you hate him. your chest tightens, fingers twisting into his shirt, gripping the fabric, a nervous reflex betraying the chaos inside you.

he ignores you. adjusts your hips, pins you there like a specimen, his hands bruising, possessive. “you wanted this,” he snarls, voice thick with need, his lips brushing your jaw, teeth grazing the skin. “you fucking earned it.”

and he pushes in.

slow, devastating, stretching you inch by inch, balls deep, his hips flush against yours. you both groan—low, rough, animalistic. your legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper, heels pressing into his lower back. your arms lock around his neck, nails carving crescent moons into his skin.

his face buries in the crook of your shoulder, breath hot and uneven, teeth grazing your collarbone, a faint scrape that sends a jolt through you. his tongue traces the salt of your skin, lips lingering, marking you.

satoru moves with purpose, every thrust a war cry, deep and unyielding. the sound of skin meeting skin echoes like thunder, mingling with your gasps, his grunts, the slick rhythm of your bodies.

your moans grow loud—too loud—and you bite your lip, teeth sinking into the soft flesh, trying to silence them. his hips drive forward, each thrust measured but forceful, his cock striking deep, making your walls grip him. his breath is ragged, puffing against your neck, and his fingers press into your hips, leaving marks that will darken by morning.

then—footsteps.

heavy, uneven, echoing from the top of the stairwell. a shadow flickers across the wall as the door creaks above, the sound sharp and jarring. your heart surges, panic flaring, eyes darting to the stairs, wide and glassy. but satoru doesn’t stop. his cock plunges deeper, harder, balls deep with every thrust, the wet rhythm of his hips against yours brazen in the silence.

you bite your hand, teeth sinking into your palm, muffling the moan clawing up your throat. your other hand grips his shoulder, nails biting in, and your legs quiver, trying to close, but his hips keep them spread.

“satoru—someone’s—” you whisper, voice frantic, barely audible, your eyes flicking to the stairs again, where the shadow lingers. your breath catches, a sharp, unsteady inhale, and your fingers twist into his shirt.

“let them see,” he growls, lips brushing your ear, voice low and vicious, dripping with cruelty. “fuck, you’re so pretty like this—look at you, no fake saint act, just my filthy little whore, taking me so fucking deep.” his words are condescending, but there’s a raw, genuine edge, like he’s seeing you for the first time, stripped of pretense, and it cuts deeper than his thrusts.

his eyes lock on yours, unblinking, pupils blown wide, and his lips twitch into a faint, predatory smirk. “you’re beautiful when you’re real,” he murmurs, voice dipping, almost soft, but the cruelty in it stings, exposing you. “no mask, no lies, just you, stuffed full of my cock.”

your body betrays you, walls gripping him tighter, pleasure surging despite the shame. the footsteps pause, a muffled voice calling out, “anyone down there?” and your heart pounds, but satoru’s thrusts intensify, more punishing, his cock filling you so completely it’s overwhelming.

you press your hand tighter over your mouth, eyes stinging, teeth digging deeper into your knuckles to stifle the sobs of pleasure. your hips jerk against him despite yourself, chasing the high. the voice mutters something vague, and you pray they leave, pray they don’t see you—legs spread, panties shoved aside, satoru’s cock buried deep, your body quaking with the effort to stay silent.

“shh,” he mocks, thrusting deeper, his cock hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your walls tightening around him. “don’t let them hear you, princess. wouldn’t want your worshippers to see you like this, would you? their perfect little saint, fucked stupid by the guy she hates, creaming all over my cock like a desperate slut.” his voice is low, taunting, and his hand slides to your throat, not squeezing, just resting, his thumb tracing your pulse, feeling it race. his eyes flick to your lips, to the way your teeth sink into your knuckles, and he smirks, slow and cruel.

you whimper, shame and pleasure twisting into a tight knot in your core. your hips buck against him, a tear slipping free, catching on your lashes. the footsteps linger, the shadow still hovering, and his hips drive forward, relentless, the slick rhythm of your bodies louder now, brazen, and you bite down harder, tasting blood, trying to lock the moans in your throat.

“you’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” satoru murmurs, voice dipping low, almost reverent, but laced with venom. “no pretending, no bullshit. just you, taking me like you were born for it.” the praise is cruel, so genuine it burns, and your walls tighten around him, a soft, broken sound escaping despite your efforts. his eyes soften for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something raw, before they darken again, holding your gaze like a challenge.

the footsteps fade, the door creaking shut, and you exhale, the sound shaky in the air. but the relief is fleeting—satoru’s hand tightens on your throat, just enough to feel your pulse leap, and his cock drives deeper, unyielding.

“you love this,” he sneers, hips snapping harder, making you gasp. “you love being my dirty little secret, don’t you? look at you, clenching around me like you can’t get enough. like the greedy spoiled brat you really are.”

your breath hitches. “i don’t—” the protest dies halfway, strangled by a moan as he thrusts deep and just right, catching that devastating spot inside you. your fingers dig into his shoulder, nails biting through the fabric. your mouth parts, trying to form words that won’t come.

“harder,” you plead, voice breathless, fraying at the edges, a crack in your control. it’s a moment of weakness, raw and exposed, your lips trembling, eyes half-closing as you press your teeth into your lower lip, trying to anchor yourself. satoru catches it, his smirk widening, eyes glinting with triumph, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, as though he can taste your surrender.

satoru gives it to you.

fucks you like it’s the only language he knows, like every thrust is a sharp syllable, every moan a desperate rebuttal. your bodies argue in heat and rhythm, friction and breath. his hips drive forward like a point he's determined to make—over and over, merciless and unrelenting, a cruel kind of eloquence.

it’s not love, but it’s the only way either of you knows how to say stay.

his cock fills you, thick and unyielding, stretching you with every measured thrust, the head grazing your walls, slick with your arousal. the wet rhythm of your bodies colliding echoes, brazen, mingling with the uneven huff of his breath against your neck. his hips surge forward, balls deep, the coarse hair at his base brushing your sensitive skin, sending a spark through your core.

your walls tighten around him, eager, possessive, and he hisses, a sharp, involuntary sound, his jaw locking, a tendon pulsing under his flushed cheek. his fingers press into your hips, bruising, and his eyes flick to yours for a fleeting moment—wild, glassy, pupils blown—before darting away, like he’s dodging the truth.

your body gives out first. the coil inside you snaps, and your spine arches like a drawn bowstring, fingers clawing down his back, leaving angry red trails. your mouth opens, but no sound escapes—just a broken little gasp, sharp and cut off like a secret you never meant to confess. pleasure floods you, white-hot and overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs.

your legs shake, heels pressing hard against his back like you’re anchoring him inside, keeping him close, keeping him real. your brows furrow, eyes wide and glassy, lips parted in a quivering o that never forms a word. your walls pulse around him, slick with your release, a faint sheen coating his cock as he eases back slightly, the sight drawing a low, guttural sound from his chest.

a sob claws up your throat, half-stifled by your palm. your other hand scrabbles for purchase, nails sinking into his skin, and he groans at the sting, at the way your body fights to hold him even as it unravels. his legs tense under yours, muscles coiling, and his tongue grazes his lips, a quick, unconscious flick.

his cock twitches inside you, heavy and hot, filling you to the point of ache. saliva gathers at the corner of your mouth, a thin trail sliding down your chin, mingling with the sweat beading at your throat. his eyes catch it, lingering on the messy shine, and his throat bobs as he swallows hard, his grip on your hip tightening.

he follows not long after.

his body stiffens, chest pressing flush to yours, a quake running through him like a snapped wire. his eyes flutter shut for a second, lashes quivering, and your name spills from his lips—hoarse, cracked, reverent, like prayer and curse in one.

satoru spills into you, deep and pulsing, his release hot and thick, filling you until it leaks out, a slick trail tracing down your thighs, pooling on the concrete below. his breath breaks against your neck, coming in short, ragged bursts, and his mouth finds your shoulder, teeth grazing the damp skin, more mark than bite. it lingers, a claiming, a confession he can't say aloud.

his fingers flex on your hips, then loosen, only to tighten again, like he’s afraid to let go. his eyes open, locking on yours for a moment—wild, raw, unguarded—before he jerks his gaze away, jaw tightening.

but satoru doesn’t stop.

he should.

you’re shaking beneath him, overstimulated, your breath hitching in choked hiccups. but he doesn’t stop. he fucks you through the comedown, through the soft sounds you make—half-cries, half-whimpers—through the desperate grip of your spent muscles.

his rhythm falters but persists, each thrust carving a space where only he fits, like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he slows. his cock drags against your sensitive walls, slick with cum and arousal, the sound wet and relentless, filling the stairwell. your legs quiver, heels digging into his lower back, and your hand clutches his shoulder, nails leaving faint red crescents.

your other hand presses harder against your mouth, teeth biting into your palm to muffle the sounds you can’t contain. his breath sears your neck, puffing in uneven bursts, and his lips graze your collarbone, leaving a faint trail of saliva that cools on your skin.

“hate you,” he snarls, voice wrecked, raw and shaking. his hips snap forward again, sharp and deep, his cock driving into you with a force that makes your walls clench, a soft, broken whimper escaping your lips. his forehead presses to yours for one trembling second, eyes locked on yours—wide, wild, panicked—like a man holding his breath underwater.

his tongue flicks out again, wetting his lips, and his fingers flex against your hips, a faint tremor in his hands. his thrusts are relentless, each one deliberate, measured, but forceful, the head of his cock hitting deep, making your breath catch in sharp, stuttering gasps.

your eyes flutter, dazed and glossy, lashes clinging to damp skin. your mouth opens, but nothing comes—only the broken breath of someone who should say stop but can’t.

you’re still trembling, thighs clenching unconsciously around him, breath shallow and uneven. your walls flutter around his cock, slick with the mess of your release and his, and a faint, wet trail drips down your inner thigh, pooling on the floor.

he shamelessly drinks in the sight and jerks his gaze away like it burns him, like he’s afraid of what he’ll see—afraid that if he keeps his eyes on you too long, he’ll realize he’s not angry at you at all. his jaw clenches, a muscle ticking under the skin, and his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek.

his hips stutter, just for a moment, but he keeps going, thrusting deep, the wet squelch of your bodies louder now, a rhythmic, obscene echo. his fingers dig into your hips, bruising, and his breath puffs against your neck, hot and uneven, a faint groan slipping free as your walls clench around him again.

he’s angry at how much he wants you to stay.

and how terrified he is that you will.

“you’re such a bad liar,” you breathe, ragged, voice barely there, lips trembling as you speak. “you beg like you worship me.”

“does that make you think you’ve won?” he growls, thrusting harder, making you gasp, your head tipping back against the wall. “you’re way delusional than i thought. you’re just as fucked as i am, princess. look at you—cumming on my cock like it’s the only thing you’re good for.”

you clench again, a weak, desperate moan slipping free, and he groans, cock twitching inside you. your lips crash into his, messy, obscene, tongues tangling, teeth biting. his blood is in your mouth, sharp and metallic, and yours is on his tongue, a shared wound.

the stairwell reeks of sweat, sex, and something sacred, your ribbon lost somewhere on the floor, his shirt clinging to his sweat-slick skin, wrinkled and damp. your eyes meet—unfocused, wild, wrecked—holding for a moment before you both look away, like the truth is too much.

“this meant nothing,” he rasps, voice raw, lips trembling as he speaks, his eyes flicking to your lips, lingering there. his fingers loosen on your hips, then tighten again, like he can’t decide whether to let go.

“good,” you whisper, lips brushing his, still trembling from the aftershocks, your breath puffing against his mouth. “then we’re doing it again tomorrow. maybe in front of a mirror. i want you to see how pathetic you look when you’re begging.” your voice dips, soft but cutting.

he doesn’t reply, but his hips roll into you one last time, slow, deliberate, like punctuation. his mouth catches your gasp, fingers tightening on your skin, and his eyes hold yours for a moment—wild, raw, unguarded—before he looks away, tongue pressing to his cheek again. you know neither of you will ever forget.

“this meant nothing,” he rasps, voice rough around the edges, lips twitching like he almost regrets saying it. his hands flex on your hips, like he can’t decide whether to let go or keep holding on.

“good,” you murmur, breath brushing his mouth, still winded. “then we’re doing it again tomorrow. in front of a mirror this time. i want you to see how desperate you get.” your voice is calm, cruel, intimate. your fingers smooth down his chest—tidying what you ruined.

he doesn’t respond.

instead, he leans in and steals a kiss—quick, hard, teeth clashing. like he can’t help himself. like he needs one last hit before he walks away. it’s messy and angry and not meant to linger, but it does.

his mouth hovers just a second longer than it should. your breath catches.

then he pulls back, silent, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. like he’s already thinking about next time.

[sixeyesonathiel]

holy week’s about to start, but i can’t stop fantasizing about yandere!gojo with a servant!reader who’s been his shadow forever so take this filth ive written on a whim<3 (if you've seen this earlier with a different age difference, no you didn't. did my best to reword/change everything because i changed the age tho kek, also made this more filthy as promised😼)

cw: heavy dubcon, yandere themes, manipulation, gaslighting, 3 year age gap, power imbalance, explicit sexual content (fingering, pussy slapping, nipple play, edging), dacryphilia, degradation/humiliation, corruption/dumbification, forced commitment, pseudo-sibling complex (not incestuous, just deep emotional bonds from shared childhood), 18+ only, minors DNI.

you’re his servant, three years younger, bound to him since your mother’s milk fed you both—her role was his wet nurse, his caretaker, tucking you into the same nursery, her lullabies stitching you to satoru like thread. you were his shadow in the gojo estate’s cold sprawl—a scrawny kid trailing his steps, offering him sticky candies, giggling when he’d lift you to reach the high shelves. he was the six eyes heir, a lonely boy with hair like starlight, locked away from the world. you’d crawl into his bed during storms, whispering stories to chase his fears, not knowing you were his anchor. he’d pat your head, call you his lucky charm, and you’d beam, too young to see the hunger in his eyes. it was innocent then—your adoration, his protection, a bond like siblings but not, woven from shared nights and secrets.

now you’re grown, or trying to be, with dreams of kyoto—books, freedom, a life beyond bowing. you tell him you’re leaving, voice small but brave, thinking he’ll pat your head like old times. satoru’s not that boy anymore. he’s taller, sharper, a god in human skin, his blindfold hiding eyes that could burn worlds. he leans against a pillar, smirking like you’ve told a joke. he asks for three days to “give you a proper goodbye.” you think it’s sweet, a nod to your childhood. you’re so fucking naive. he’s not saying farewell—he’s raging against you daring to take what’s his. you. his everything.

the night before your train, the bathhouse is a fog of steam, your shift damp, clinging to your thighs like a second skin. you’re rinsing your hair, humming, when the air thickens—electric, heavy. satoru’s there, lounging against the cedar wall, blindfold gone, his eyes a crazed blue, pupils dilated but still searing, like twin oceans swallowing the light. his white shirt’s half-open, collarbone sharp, hair damp, sticking to his forehead like he’s been pacing, plotting. his lips curl, boyish but venomous, a predator playing soft.

“you’re really gonna ditch me?” his voice is low, almost pouty, but there’s a razor in it, slicing through the steam. he steps closer, barefoot, silent, and your heart stumbles. his scent hits—clean, like rain and sugar, dizzying.

you try to laugh, to keep it light, like when you’d steal his mochi. “satoru, it’s not like that. i just… i wanna study, see things. you get it, right?” your words falter under his stare, those eyes—blue fire, pupils twitching, crazed but not lost. they pin you, strip you, like you’re glass.

he tilts his head, a silver strand falling over one eye, and his smile tightens, lips thinning. “you don’t sound convinced, pretty thing.” his hand lifts, slow, deliberate, catching your wrist. his fingers burn, too hot, and your pulse races under his thumb, betraying you. “think you can just walk out? after all i’ve done for you?”

“done for me?” you echo, voice catching. the steam’s choking, your shift’s too thin, and he’s too close, towering, his shadow eating yours. you step back, but the wall’s there, cool and slick against your spine.

his grip slides to your elbow, firm, pulling you flush against him. his chest is hard, warm through his shirt, and his breath brushes your cheek—mint, heat, sin. “you were mine from the start,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear, sending shivers to your core. “all those nights, your stories, your sticky little hands. you think that was nothing?” his free hand slips under your shift, tracing your thigh, slow, teasing, until your breath hitches.

you should push him off. this is satoru—your satoru, who’d carry you when you fell, who’d sneak you sweets—but not like this, not with his fingers climbing, brushing the damp cotton between your legs. “satoru, stop,” you whisper, but it’s weak, trembling, and your thighs part, just a fraction, traitor to your will.

he laughs, soft, cruel, his eyes glinting as his pupils pulse, blue blazing like a storm. “stop? oh, sweetheart, look at you.” his finger presses against your core, light, testing, and you gasp, knees wobbling. “already wet through this flimsy thing. what kind of good girl dreams of leaving then soaks herself for me?”

“i’m not—” you start, but his finger slips past the fabric, grazing your slit, and your words choke into a whimper. he’s watching, always watching—jaw tight, lips parted, a flush creeping up his neck like he’s barely holding on. the boy you loved is there, but twisted, hungry, his beauty sharper, meaner.

“not what?” he taunts, sliding one finger inside you, slow, deliberate, curling just enough to make you clench. “not mine? not desperate?” he steps closer, pinning you with his hips, and his cock’s hard against your thigh, straining through his pants. “you’re a fucking mess already, and i’ve barely started.”

tears prick your eyes, hot, spilling fast, and he groans, low, animal, leaning in to lick a stripe up your cheek. “fuck, you’re gorgeous when you cry,” he breathes, voice fraying, like your tears are his drug. his finger moves, slow, deep, and you’re trembling, heat pooling where he’s stretching you. “makes me wanna break you, pretty thing. wanna see how many tears you’ve got left.”

“satoru, please,” you sob, clutching his shirt, damp cotton twisting under your nails. your body’s screaming—too much, not enough—and he’s everywhere, his breath hot, his touch burning. you’re barely even an adult, barely anything, and he’s unraveling you like it’s his right.

“please what?” his voice drops, mocking, and he pulls back, eyes blazing, pupils wide but still blue, crazed, endless. “please stop? please more?” his thumb finds your clit, circling, and your hips buck, chasing the ache despite the shame clawing your throat. “you’re humping my hand like a needy slut. think kyoto’s got this? think anyone else can make you this dumb already?”

“no,” you gasp, and it’s true, god help you—he’s carved himself into you, every soft moment now a blade. his finger curls deeper, joined by another, stretching you, and you bite your lip, tears streaming as the burn twists into need.

he coos, soft, sickening, his free hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your tears. “aw, poor thing, crying so pretty for me.” his voice is honey, but his fingers thrust harder, slick sounds loud in the steam. “you don’t need dreams, sweetheart. you need me, don’t you? always have.” his lips brush yours, a tease, then pull back, leaving you chasing air.

“i just… i wanted—” you try, chasing what’s remaining of your reason, but his thumb grinds your clit, ruthless, and your words fracture into a moan. his smile’s gone, replaced by something darker—jaw clenched, eyes wild, like you’ve hurt him.

“wanted what?” he snaps, yanking his fingers out, and you whine, empty, hips twitching. “wanted to leave? to forget me?” his hand slaps your pussy, sharp, sudden, and you cry out, the sting melting into heat that makes you clench around nothing. “look at this greedy cunt,” he sneers, slapping again, harder, watching you jolt. “making a fucking mess all over me. you disappointed me, you know that?”

“i’m sorry,” you sob, frantic, nails digging into his arms. your tears are rivers now, and he drinks them in, his tongue darting out to taste your cheek again, a low groan rumbling in his chest. his fingers plunge back in, three now, brutal, curling against that spot that makes you see stars.

“sorry’s not enough,” he growls, but his voice cracks, raw, like he’s the one breaking. “you did this to me, you know. all those years, following me, needing me—fuck, you think i wanted to crave you like this?” his thumb’s back on your clit, circling fast, and you’re trembling, so close it’s painful. “you’re mine, pretty thing. say it.”

“i’m yours,” you whimper, voice raw, and his eyes soften, just a flicker, before they harden again, pupils pulsing in that crazed blue sea. he kisses you then, hard, possessive, teeth clashing as he swallows your sobs, his tongue claiming every corner of your mouth like it’s his territory.

“good girl,” he purrs, pulling back, lips wet, swollen. “but you’re still a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” his fingers slow, teasing, keeping you dangling, and you whine, hips grinding against his hand. he slaps your pussy again, twice, three times, each one meaner, and you’re keening, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. “won’t you look at this?” he laughs, mocking, holding up his hand, glistening with you. “you’re soaking me, sweetheart. what a dirty fucking mess.”

“satoru, please,” you beg, voice breaking, and he coos again, sickeningly sweet, his free hand sliding to your chest, yanking your shift down to bare your breasts. his eyes darken, pupils twitching, and he leans in, latching onto your nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing.

“fuck, these are perfect,” he mumbles against your skin, tongue flicking, and you arch, moaning, oversensitive. he pulls back, eyes locked on yours, and his voice drops, filthy, reverent. “your mom fed me, you know—gave me her milk. and now here i am, sucking on her daughter’s tits like a starving man.” he bites down, just enough to sting, and you scream, soft and broken, as he laves over the mark. “kinda poetic, huh? full fucking circle.”

you’re babbling now, incoherent—his name, please, more—lost in the heat, the pain, the way his fingers fuck you relentless, thumb grinding your clit until you’re teetering, body taut. “satoru, i can’t—i’m gonna—”

“not yet,” he snarls, yanking his hand free, and you wail, empty, aching, hips bucking into nothing. your knees give, but he catches you, pinning you to the wall with his body, cock hard and leaking through his pants, pressing against your belly. “you don’t come ‘til i say, you hear me?” his voice is low, fraying, and his eyes—still blue, but crazed, electric—bore into you, daring you to disobey.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” you sob, frantic, hands scrabbling at his chest, his shirt wet with your tears, your slick. his skin’s fever-hot, muscles tense, and his breath’s ragged, hitching like he’s fighting himself.

he leans in, forehead to yours, damp hair sticking to your skin. “you’re not sorry yet, pretty thing.” his voice is soft, dangerous, and his hand’s back, four fingers now, stretching you wide, palm slapping your clit with every thrust. “but you will be. gonna fuck you ‘til you’re too dumb to want anything but me.”

you’re gone, body seizing, babbling nonsense—satoru, please, need you, yours—and he’s murmuring filth, fractured, unhinged. “that’s it, fuck, look at you—gushing like a whore for me. think your silly books can do this? think anyone else can wreck you like this?” his fingers twist, relentless, and your cries echo, too loud, obscene in the cedar haze.

“no one,” you choke, and he rewards you with a kiss, softer this time, but still possessive, tongue tracing your teeth like he owns them. “only you, satoru, please—”

“damn right,” he growls, and his face shifts—jaw tight, eyes blazing, a flush painting his cheeks like he’s burning from the inside. “you’re mine—every fucking breath, every drop of you.” his fingers slow, dragging out the torment, and you’re begging, hips grinding, voice shot. he slaps your pussy one last time, so hard you scream, and you clench, leaking down his arm.

“come for me,” he finally rasps, voice raw, like it’s torn from his soul. “come all over my hand, show me you’re my good fucking girl.” and you do, shattering, gushing, body convulsing as you soak him, slick dripping to the floor. you’re babbling—satoru, yours, love you—words spilling without sense, and he fucks you through it, cooing how perfect you are, how you’re his, lips brushing your tears like they’re gold.

you’re limp, panting, but he’s not done. he kneels, yanking your shift higher, and licks a slow, greedy stripe up your thigh, tasting you. “fuck, you’re sweet,” he groans, eyes meeting yours—still blue, crazed, but softer, sated. “gonna eat you proper later, sweetheart. but not yet.” he stands, his tongue flicks your nipple again, teasing, and you whimper, oversensitive.

then he’s pulling you into his arms, strong, too strong, like he’s scared you’ll vanish. “you’re not leaving,” he says, quiet, final, his breath hot against your hair. “not tomorrow, not ever.”

you don’t fight. you can’t. a week later, a ring glints on your finger, his clan’s crest cold against your skin. he calls you his fiancée, voice dripping pride, and you smile, because he’s satoru—your satoru, who gives you silk, sweets, his endless obsession. you don’t need kyoto, or dreams. he’s burned them all to ash, and you let him, because he’s all you know.

[satsugo]

୨୧ You tried to sneak out after a one-night stand. Gojo wakes up — calm, shirtless, and not okay with being left behind. What follows is possessive touches, quiet threats, and a reminder of who you belong to.

I wanted to write something that felt like a slow unravel — soft words, sharp intentions, and Gojo being terrifyingly calm in the way only he can be. just a lil treat for the yandere girlies ♡ hope it ruins you in the best way. mlist

gojo satoru x reader

minors do not interact. this piece is intended for 18+ audiences.

The floor was cold beneath your bare feet as you tiptoed across the suite.

Gojo’s apartment was too clean — pristine white walls, muted city lights pouring through wide windows, and expensive silence that made your breath feel too loud. Your dress from the night before was clutched in one hand, wrinkled and still smelling faintly like sweat and cologne. You hadn’t even put your shoes back on yet.

He was still in bed, you were sure of it. He’d been wrapped in those dark gray sheets when you slid out, dead silent. You hadn’t dared to glance back.

Until now.

“Y’know,” a voice drawled behind you — slow, amused, terrifyingly awake. “If you really wanted to leave quietly, you probably shouldn’t have stolen my shirt.”

You froze mid-step, breath caught like prey in a trap.

He was sitting up now. Hair messier than before. One long arm braced behind him, the other pushing the sheets off his bare torso. His blindfold was gone, tossed somewhere on the nightstand, and his icy blue eyes caught the dim light like sharpened crystal.

You swallowed.

“It was cold,” you offered, lamely.

“Oh, totally,” he said, voice light and sarcastic. “That’s why you’re sneaking out like you killed somebody.”

You turned slowly. “I didn’t think you'd care—”

Gojo laughed. Not loud — just sharp, like a knife sliding across glass.

“You didn’t think I’d care?” he repeated. “Sweetheart… I’ve had your name circling my brain since the second you touched me.”

He stood, bare feet whispering across the hardwood as he stalked toward you — tall, loose-limbed, terrifyingly calm.

You backed up.

Bad idea.

He moved faster, one hand pressing against the wall just beside your head, caging you without even touching you.

“That’s mine,” he said softly, flicking the hem of the shirt you were wearing. His shirt — white, oversized, the one that hung just a little too low on you and hit just high enough on your thighs to drive him insane.

“You mean the shirt?”

His head tilted. “I mean you.”

You went quiet, breath shaky. “We hooked up once.”

“So?” Gojo smiled, slow and bright — but his eyes didn’t match. They burned. “You don’t do that with someone like me and leave. That’s not how this works.”

You opened your mouth, maybe to argue. But the words died on your tongue the second his fingers hooked under the shirt’s hem and pushed up — slow, deliberate, warm palms skating along the skin of your thighs.

“W-Wait—” You shifted, but he just stepped closer, pressing the full heat of his body into yours.

“Don’t run,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear now. “You’ll only make me chase you. And you won’t like how that ends.”

Your breath hitched. His fingers kept moving — slipping higher, thumbs brushing over the crease of your hips, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“I liked seeing you in my shirt,” he said softly. “But I like you better out of it.”

You shivered.

Then he tugged — not gently. The shirt lifted over your head, arms caught for a moment before he pulled it free and tossed it aside. You were bare beneath, breathless and pressed against the wall like you didn’t know what to say.

“Pretty little thing,” Gojo murmured, fingers trailing over your bare stomach. “You really thought you could disappear from me? After the way you moaned my name last night?”

You blushed — visibly. It made his eyes darken.

He kissed you. Rough, breath-stealing, like he was trying to taste every sound you’d ever made. You clutched at his shoulders — and it hit you all over again just how strong he was. How fast he could crush you. But he didn’t.

Not yet.

“Bed,” he said. “Now.”

He didn’t yell — didn’t need to. You obeyed without thinking, legs shaky as you moved. He followed like a storm.

The sheets were still warm when he pushed you down, straddling you easily. His hands roamed — over your breasts, down your sides, fingers memorizing every inch like he’d been given a test on it.

“You looked so cute sneaking out,” he murmured, lips grazing your skin as he moved lower. “But you’re not going anywhere now. You hear me?”

You nodded — breathless, wrecked, unsure if it was fear or desire curling low in your stomach.

Maybe both.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and lingering, before glancing up with those impossible blue eyes.

“I’m gonna remind you exactly who you belong to.”

And when he finally lowered his mouth to you — all heat, tongue, and expert cruelty — you forgot your own name.

But you remembered his.

Over and over and over again.

satsugo 2025 © all rights reserved; do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing.

[yanderenightmare-reblogs]

this right here

[chrollohearttags]

𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 | 𝚎. 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚛

studying has been taking up a lot of your time (and mental energy) as of late. Your boyfriend has just the plan to shut your brain off for the night.

black nurse!reader (fem descriptors), eren is a nursing student (a few years younger than reader also) fingering, neck kissing, choking, facefucking, rough-ish sex, squirting, missionary, slightly aggressive rennie 🫠, daddy is used once, nipple play, calls reader slut, spit play, fingers in mouth, creampie, multiple orgasms

word count: 5.3K

🎙️: some of y’all might remember this AU from Wattpad and I’m officially restarting it bc my muse for the others are shot right now. If you’re not familiar with it, I apologize in advance bc I promise it’s not this smutty and juicy in the slightest ☠️ I’m just in a mood. Also, this is my first fic in almost two months, please be nice or I’ll cry!

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“You know you play too fucking much, right?”

“Mmmm..nah, I don’t think I’ve played enough. Look at you. All tense and shit.”

if there was one word in the entire English language that you could use to describe your mood at the moment, it’d most certainly be irritable. To the highest degree..and granted, that could have been chocked up to the fact that you hadn’t eaten in hours, you’d been staring at textbooks and computer screens since four in the afternoon and your phone screen read nine thirty..and to really add the proverbial icing atop the cake, this annoying ass man would not leave you alone! Here it was only a week away from your BSN final; two from his N-CLEX exam and here he was bullshitting as per usual. It was how he approached most things in life, his mantra if you will. No need to stress, what’s meant to be will happen.

too bad, you couldn’t take on those sorts of ideologies when so much was at stake! Not when the results of these tests would determine your future as an RN and instructor, and his career as a nurse in general. You’d met Eren Jaeger almost three years ago when he was merely a patient at the office you worked for during your initial internship..earning clinical hours and experience in the field. He was most certainly the liveliest one you’d seen in Dr. Smith’s office and there was never an appointment where you didn’t leave in stitches because he’d made you laugh so hard. However, you pegged him as the rich kid, the son of a doctor with no ambition or common sense...always looking to make a joke out of everything.

so imagine your surprise when you were tasked with not only supervising an entire floor but the local nursing school recruits as well and the first person to come traipsing through those heavy double doors was him! And even more so, in six months time, he’d have you wooed and swept off your feet. That same charm and wit that had you cackling during his appointments were the same ones that made you nearly spit your drink out when you were on a date and eased serious tension among your staff after a rough night on the floor. Just being in his presence brought you immense comfort. However, at the moment…

“Look, Eren. I’m busy, find sum’ else to do, for real.”

you weren’t in the mood for any of it! This exam had been causing you immense stress and it seemed that no matter how hard you studied, retaining information was impossible. Nothing stuck and you were at your wits end..certainly not in the mood for childish antics.

”I’m trying but you don’t want to stop—“

“Maybe because everything isn’t a goddamn joke to me.”

Eren could see the frustration, hence why he had come up behind you, in a half assed attempt to make you scared and somehow wound up groping your chest in the process. Admittedly, he’d never seen you act like this..never even so much as raise your voice at him and here you were, lashing out. Part of him understood your feelings. He knew how important this was and although he wasn’t showing it, he was equally as nervous for his own test. But regardless, nothing was going to change tonight and especially by sitting here irate and snappy. The only thing he wanted to do was shut his brain off and wanted his beloved (y/n) to follow suit..and he was willing to make it happen by any means!

“Eren, what did I just say—“

one thing that he had learned since being together was that once your mind was resigned to something..there was no changing it. So rather than spend time arguing with you, he had another solution!

“..I heard you, I don’t give a fuck about all that right now…’just trying to help..”

“You’re trying to help me by fucking me? Righttt.”

“Yes, I think it’s a very helpful tool for relieving stress. Seen that somewhere in my text book or sum’..”

“Mmm, I think me and you were studying different materials..but sure, why not.”

seconds later, his hand was snaking around your upper body, clutching your throat with the other steadily pulling the chair back and his lips marking your neck with soft kisses. He was adamant in making sure that you got proper rest and a distraction. What better way to do so than to wear you down? Eventually, you’d find those large hands of his snaking around to the front, making home back on your plump breasts..soft, voluptuous and perky as they sat up in your tank top. He could see you visibly enjoying this little tease, indicative by the way your muscles relaxed. He’d continue to massage them until your legs almost instinctively parted.

That’s when, before you even had time to react, he’d spin you around to face him. His grasp still firm around your throat as he moved in for a kiss. Your tongues collided in a steamy clash; smacking against one another as you attempted to catch your breath. But he wasn’t leaving you much room to do so, less known, attest him right now.

“Exactly..now keep those legs spread and don’t move.”

the command was so absolute and matter of fact, it damn near caught you off guard! He’d never spoken to you in such a manner. It was always so playful, jovial and even a bit needy during times like this. But alas, you’d awoken this side of him and you were going to have a hell of a time ‘calming’ him down. Even so, you’d follow his order just this once and part those thick thighs until that plump center, sheathed by the smallest pair of shorts he’d ever seen. Your physique truly was something special…thick in all of the correct areas with stretch marks and a semi-pudgy tummy to match. Your belly ring dangled from the gentle force of him maneuvering you around.

“Eren..I—“

“Whatever you’re about to say, save it…you don’t always have to handle shit alone. I got you..just let me help, okay? I promise, you can trust me..”

he was aware of your past..how mean and cruel previous partners had been so he was very careful in how he approached you. He understood all too well that being overly aggressive would only prove to make you anxious or even shut down entirely. His intention was never to make you uncomfortable. Even so, he wanted to see you give yourself to him fully…trust that he would do right by you and not take advantage of the precious gift that was your love.

he would take great care of you to not only relax but feel pleasure like you’d never experienced it. Although you seemed a bit reluctant, you were ready for whatever he was going to toss your way! Assuring him that you were all his for the taking..

“Fineee…I trust you..”

without a moment of hesitation, he’d detach from your own mouth and move down your neck. Whilst those tits remained exposed, he’d prompt you to give each of those nipples a light squeeze in his place. Meanwhile, his own hands were busy gliding into your underwear, trying to locate that aching bud. That long, tattooed forearm gliding down the center of your torso as a result. It would also serve as a semblance of comfort when he inevitably brought you to ecstasy..

“Mmm..there we go, baby..fuck, you’re so wet already.”

“That’s because you were grabbing on my neck..”

“Oh you like that, huh? I’ll keep it in mind..”

you wouldn’t know it but when you first began dating Eren, he was completely inexperienced. Although he wore his confidence like a lapel pin, he was incredibly timid, shy and nervous when it came to intimacy. The first time you two actually had sex, he lasted all of three minutes before he forced himself to pull out and splatter you with a heavy load. Left a trembling mess, his entire face turned beet red as he just glared at you. He was certain you were going to leave him right then and there; flustered and apologetic, he’d try to make up an excuse as to why he couldn’t satisfy you to your full potential. However, you thought it was adorable! He’d worked up all of his courage to give you a night filled with pleasure and even though it didn’t pan out quite the way he imagined, he had made a complete turnaround since that night and had done good to broaden his sexual horizons. You grew together; learning one another’s ticks and desires, which he knew each of yours to a science. So much so, you practically melted within his grasp and wanted to see just how far he’d take it!

“Open your mouth f’r me, princess…” prompting you as he causally glided those fingers across your tongue. Your gorgeous brown eyes fixated on him in a lustful gaze..by this time, you’d come to completely face him with that tall, lanky frame hovering above. You were all but level with that rising tent within his sweats. Meanwhile, his opposite set of digits were good and preoccupied with your juicy cunt; tightening around the base of the knuckles and then releasing once he’d use the thumb to stroke your swollen clit. Such an awkward position to be in at the moment but it was well worth it for the amount of pleasure both of you were about to receive. Finally retracting the ones in your mouth, Eren would leave you with a trail of drool seeping down your lips and chest in the process. Looking fucked out and starved already without so much as even a single thrust yet..that was the type of desperation and submission he wanted to see from you..

“ ‘ren…lemme suck on that dick..”

although he was trying to maintain control, who was he to deny your very blunt request? After all, he knew if you were dripping now, this would inevitably have you overflowing. Just as the first hand did, he’d slowly withdraw from those tight folds and allow you to clean up the remnants before tugging at that elastic waistband. “oh shit..I knew you’d come around. Here, baby..”

suddenly, you’d feel that same grasp on the back of your head, tugging you forward so that he could align himself with the rim of those pretty lips. The softness brushing against the tip as he rubbed them around…teasing you. “There you go..kiss it—stick your tongue out..that’s it..” from there, (y/n) needed no further instruction. Without the guidance of your own hands, you’d take his entire tip into your mouth and begin to suckle. Suctioning in, enclosing the silkiness of those jaws around his cock. “Fuck..you don’t need me to tell you anything..just make me feel good, princess..like you always do—“

he was well aware of how deviant you truly could become when the need arised. From outside appearances, you always looked so poised and proper..never getting out of character and to some, you’d even come off as ‘boujie’. However, Eren got to see the multitude of your complex layers; dispelling the notion that you were dull or boring. Including this one..the very promiscuous side that would do whatever it took to get hers and make him climax too! When it came to the bedroom, you were adamant and steadfast in what you wanted and he had no issue fulfilling those requests. Eventually, you’d take another couple of inches before establishing a rhythm. It didn’t take long for the very audible sounds of slurping and gagging to emit as a result. You’d gaze up to see Eren’s head resting back on his shoulder blades; groans spilling out in a whiny huff as a result of it all. You could be rather relentless when it came to pleasuring him but he didn’t mind it one single bit, of course!

“Oh my—shit, baby. You take me so good..fucking your own face like that. I love it..”

those words only served as further encouragement and inevitably prompted you to cradle his balls in addition, knowing how sensitive they were. Giving them a light squeeze, you’d continue forcing his shaft between your jaws; the sloppy wet strings of drool pooling down your chest serving as a testament to how much you were enjoying yourself. Where limits should have existed, there were none and it wasn’t long before he’d find himself buried to the hilt of your throat with your forehead scraping his pelvis. With that salacious gaze fixated on him, Eren had to all but restrain himself from forcing a load down your esophagus. But to be fair, this was the outcome he desired so badly and kept pestering you for.

“F—fuck! You’re not playing fair, baby.. ‘gonna make me come if you don’t stop..”

that deep tone with breathy whimpers cried out as he struggled to maintain his composure. However, you weren’t interested in letting up when he so rudely disturbed your study session. He was going to pay for breaking your focus! In a quick slight of hand, you’d shift his member into your palm and his sack in between your lips. Making slow jerking motions until you’d lean back up and coat both with exorbitant amounts of saliva. Seeing how filthy and unabashed you had become for him was causing Eren to lose his mind. Sometimes, he felt as though he couldn’t keep up with you and this was one of those moments. Although this little sexual escapade was his idea, you’d seem to have taken full, unequivocal control of the situation.

“That’s exactly what I want…”

“Then gag yourself on this dick, baby..let that stress out.”

that look in your eyes screaming for him to give you every ounce of his creamy nut…wanting to swallow every drop. Eventually, you’d begin to writhe around against the desk chair, attempting to create friction and stimulation for your clit. Your nipples had once again become extremely hard and the slightest brush was driving you crazy. Eren had heard your response loud and clear, which led him to sandwiching your head between those same fingers that had once curled up inside of you. He’d prompt you to take his cock back into your mouth so that he could work out all of that cum of his own accord.

the pace mirrored that of heavy, rough strokes..ones you’d get to experience soon enough. Gag spit along with loud moans poured out as a result of his brutal pounding but you welcomed the sensation..even increasing it by reaching down and fingering yourself in his place. “..yeah, play with your pussy, baby..” It wasn’t even a full five minutes before you noticed his stride beginning to break and his toned legs trembling. The last couple movements were off kilter and choppy but soon, you’d have your reward in the form of his seed. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, damn—‘coming—“

in that very moment, (y/n) would find yourself held in place by the tight grasp of his palms as he allowed that thick cock to pulsate in the back of your throat. The warm fluid filled your oral cavity until he could muster another drop. The entire time, his loud groaning was permeating the room as well. Once he was able to regain his senses, Eren would slowly withdraw and examine the aftermath. That towering six foot something frame would take a step back to truly take in the beautiful sight in front of him. You were drenched from the neck to your belly button in silky fluids…that wrung out tank top sat idly underneath your breasts and those shorts were halfway around your thighs at this point. To say he’d make an absolute wreck of you would be an understatement.

“Lemme look at you…”

proudly displaying his work of ‘art’, you’d cup those saliva laden tits and squeeze them together with your tongue dangling. By the look on your face, something told him that you were more than happy he’d interrupted you! “Yeah..that’s how you should look. Happy as fuck.” Shoving his thumb between your puckered lips, he’d then bend down to shove his tongue into your mouth for a sloppy peck.

but something also told him that you couldn’t be satisfied with merely sucking him off. You needed—no, you deserved more.

“Are we done? If so, imma be disappointed.”

“Of course not, baby..I got you.”

Regardless of how lightheaded that orgasm had made him, he leaned forward and took you into his grasp. Hoisting you up in one fell swoop to carry you to the bed that was a mere ten feet away. Once he had you flat against the mattress, he’d make haste in disrobing you of those clothes to render you completely naked. He’d follow suit and tug his sweats until they reached his ankles so he could kick them off. Once the two of you were left with only your bare flesh, Eren wasted no time in pinning both your wrists and ankles behind your head. But not before propping your head up with a pillow. A position that led to excitement riddling your face. From this angle, you could watch it go in and out together. With you exactly where he wanted, your boyfriend began the descent down your torso to that plump center. Those fat lips drenched in slick whilst that aching bud protruded between them. He knew you were already overly sensitive so he didn’t want to keep you waiting for much longer but the selfish glutton in him just had to have a taste of that divine nectar.

“Just be patient with me..’need to make sure you’re good and ready first..”

immediately, your eyes would roll to the back of your skull and a nervous giggle arose as well. Make no mistake, he allowed you to have your fun but it was his turn to take control now. Delving headfirst between your thighs, Eren began his quick descent onto that swollen pearl and lapped around it. You’d immediately grasp at the sheets, eyes trailing to the back of your skull as those feet dangled in the air. He’d keep you at bay with a hand clutched around your throat as he continued exploring those folds with his tongue. For a split second, his head would raise to make eye contact with you.

“Fuck..you really needed this, huh? You’re already starting to come..” alluding to the fact that your juices were spurting out as he scooped his tongue inside of your hole and rubbed that sensitive clit. It seemed his skills grew better and better each time you two had sex. He was far more attune to your needs and desires, even more aware of them than you were sometimes.

“Y-yeah!..how’d you learn to do that?” “What can I say? I got a hell of a teacher...” tossing you a wink and a smirk because you truly did turn him out when it came to the bedroom. He’d continue lapping and tracing his tongue intricately throughout your folds until he received the beautiful payout of you squirting all over his face. Try as you might to harbor restraint, it was to no avail and of no use…that tight entrance would spasm before more would spill forth. Just to increase that pleasure, Eren added a finger in hopes of coaxing more out.

“Give me that cum, baby..that’s it. Make a fucking mess for me..” and you certainly didn’t disappoint. The shower of sweet juices continued for another minute or so before you’d lie there, spent and breathless from such an amazing orgasm. Once he’d gotten his fill, your boyfriend would return to the surface for air and to get a good look at your current state. “You taste so good..love making you squirt in my fucking face..” Breaking into a sadistic chuckle, he’d readjust so that his palms were stationed firmly on the backs of your thighs and that he was centered right between them..in that moment, he’d slide his throbbing member across the sensitive core and tease it for a moment. But you couldn’t handle that at the moment.

“Eren, please don’t play..I need you so fucking bad right now..”

nearly in tears from the pending overstimulation and the overwhelming need to be stuffed full of his cock. Your walls would ache and spasm in anticipation; so much so, he’d watch you reach for his hips to guide him in. But naturally, nothing with this man came completely easy…he had to mess with you a bit for all of the resistance earlier. Just as you went to grab him, he’d pin those wrists back in one fell swoop with one hand and use the other to press into your stomach.

“I know you do…that’s why you’re gonna beg me for it.” Immediately being met with a look of shock and a bit of infuriation. Even so, you’d remain there, lying in wait until he got what he wanted.

“I mean, you were being all fussy earlier..I’m not convinced you really deserve it..c'mon, princess…change my mind.” he was so assured of himself and honestly, you were in no position to attest. The desire grew stronger with every passing moment and if he didn’t deliver soon, you were bound to implode. “Fuuuck, Eren! Please—“ “That’s better but not quite..tell me how badly you need me to fuck you.” Besides, when he hovered above you like this, looking so fucking attractive and domineering, you felt no other choice but to submit. So setting your pride aside, (y/n) began to grovel..whimpering and bucking your hips to meet the friction of his shaft rubbing against your wet folds. You’d tell him how good he made you feel and that your body was his for the taking, unequivocally. Finally, that submission and trust he had craved..best believe, he was going to take care not to break it. After your speech, he’d seem content and proceeded to tap the head of that appendage against you before gripping the base and making one full glide across the outside and shoving it inside. Sucking his teeth and moaning as he made place between that flesh.

“Oh fuck…that’s it, gorgeous. Right there..”

you’d release a whimper of your own as you became acclimated to that thick shape. You’d clench around him once before releasing and he knew he couldn’t sit idle for long. With haste, he’d begin slamming his hips forward, quickly trying to establish some semblance of a rhythm so that he didn’t blow his load too quickly. Upon being immersed in that juicy cunt, he’d find his knees buckling from the sensation.

“..pussy’s so fucking tight..and warm..oh God, I love you so much..” his whiny yet deep moans complimented by the sounds of smacking flesh. With your hands now planted firmly on your asscheeks, per his instructions, you’d keep it spread open so that he had ample room to give you both the satisfaction you both desired. Suddenly, his strokes would increase in speed and depth; really stretching you out. Jolting that body around as those perky tits bounced from the force. “Fuck!… babyyyy…” “I know, baby. I know..you just look so pretty when I’m digging you out. I can’t help but fuck you this hard.” Cooing to you as he bent down to plant soft kisses along your forehead. You’d cry out, maneuvering your hands to his back, digging your nails into it..you’d never felt pleasure like this with anyone else. The way he made love to you was incomparable. Even when you fought against it, he knew your body’s needs and wanted more than anything to satisfy them.

“That’s right, princess..let me fuck that stress out of you..let that mind go blank. Just focus on taking this dick.” Whispering in your ear as you held him close.

eventually, your legs would coil around his waist and your eyes would trail to the back of your skull in a haze of sheer ecstasy. You didn’t know what to do with yourself..all except fall apart underneath him. Your body was a bundle of tight nerves, bound together by the building ecstasy and you were bound to explode any minute. Unfortunately for you, he wasn’t done teasing quite yet..instead, he had one more move he just had to try in hopes of sending you over the edge.

“Eyes on me, baby..yeah, I need to see that pretty face right now.”

garnering a smile as he leaned back up and maneuvered his arms to fall into the center of your torso. Suddenly, you’d feel a slight pinch of your nipples before he began to rub them slowly. Tracing tiny circles as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. It was very apparent you couldn’t handle it by the way that cunt twitched around his shaft..you were bound to explode at any moment. Mouthing off about how good it feels as he made alternating motions on those sensitive buds; rolling them between his fingertips, squeezing and even leaning down to suckle them for a brief moment. The sensation lasted for a few minutes before he’d return his attention back to ensuring you got your well deserved orgasm. This time, with a bit more aggression because he recalled how excited you’d gotten when he grasped your throat.

“Oh my God…fuck! ‘m gonna come—“

“Then do it..come f’r me, slut..give me what I want.”

the name sending you into an absolute spiral as he never spoke that way on a regular basis and would never think to disrespect you. But this was exactly what you craved. To be used and made devoid of all feelings except pleasure. Suddenly, you’d feel his fingertips squeezing your jaws as he increased his speed yet again..this time, feeding you the deepest, longest strokes he could muster. The two of you would spout off filthy, steamy remarks at one another through gritted teeth, intense glares and breathy moans as you reached down to aid him by stroking your aching bud.

“ ‘m so fucking close, baby. I don’t think I can hold it..”

“Fuck yes you are..that pussy’s gripping me so tight right now..goddamn.”

Eventually, those thrusts became rather sporadic and Eren was rapidly losing both his composure and stamina. The both of you were so near your peaks that it was only a matter of time before you exploded. You’d try to outlast him but as he maintained that clutch on your jaw, he’d lean down to spit into your mouth, letting that trail drip down onto your tongue as you stuck it out. He knew what was coming and he couldn’t be vexed to continue anticipating it so your boyfriend decided to assist with a little extra lubrication.

“Get yourself off..I’m not fucking waiting..” Without hesitation, (y/n) scooped that saliva out your mouth and onto your fingertips to massage that clit once more. You were rubbing so fast, your head began to grow fuzzy and soon, nothing but an image of static and blackness would fill your vision as you released all over him; voiding yourself of all those warm, sweet sticky juices as they sprayed his abdomen. Right above the incisions from some prior operations..he wore it as a badge of honor quite frankly. That a woman who once took care of him, was now having all of her wants and needs fulfilled. His cock sat idly inside of you until that stream became too powerful and all but pushed him out. That’s when he’d simply grasp the base of his throbbing member and tap against your slit.

“Shit! Oh my gosh..”

“Ahhh..fuck. That’s it..I knew if I got in it deep enough, you’d squirt for me again, baby. That’s my girl..”

“Fuuuck, it feels so good!”

You’d continue spraying until you convulsed uncontrollably. He was still in awe of the mess you’d made but there was still the task of releasing his own. Although he loved the sight of you in such a vulnerable state, he couldn’t let up. Grasping your hips once more, he’d tug you down onto it and continue drilling you with his cock. This time, to relieve himself.

“Hold still, I’m not yet…need to..come inside of you..”

clutching the backs of your thighs, Eren relentlessly shoved that thick cock back inside of you, pumping sporadically until he felt his own legs begin to quiver. It wouldn’t be long before his stride broke so he’d bend down to grant you one last kiss and sweet nothing. Cradling the side of your head into his palms in an intimate manner. With baited, sporadic breath and whiny cries, he’d pour his soul out to you. Becoming almost obiedient and subservient himself.

“I love you! fuck…I love you so much...”

“I love you too..”

“Am I making you feel good? Did I do a good job? Can I come inside of you..please, baby. Can I?”

and without hesitation, you’d nod your head profusely and grant him his wish. But not without sending him spiraling with your last statement.

“Yes, please! Come in this pussy, daddy..I need it.” And from that moment on, Eren fell to pieces. Collapsing his entire body weight onto your own as your legs coiled around his waist, ensuring he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted. His final thrust came in a sharp, forceful thud before he’d begin to pulsate and eventually, release every last drop of remaining semen he had to offer. Emptying his balls inside of you shamelessly. Already spent from his earlier orgasm, he’d let out an ear curdling grunt, allowing you to claw into his back because he knew he’d lost all semblance of control and had probably been a bit rough. However, none of that mattered..you both were utterly satisfied and it was apparent by the puddle of tears streaming down each of your faces. Never had either of you experienced lovemaking so powerful that it reduced you to literal tears.

eventually, he’d finish pumping the remnants into you and soon, find the strength to pull out. Once he was able to gather his own bearings, he’d turn his attention to you.

“Are you okay, princess? I'm gonna go grab you some water and a towel real quick—“

even insisting he’d help you to the bathroom afterwards to avoid an infection and get cleaned up properly. However, he was shocked to find that his words were falling completely on deaf ears! That’s when he’d turn around to see you sound asleep..completely knocked from the events that just transpired. All he could do was laugh to himself not only out of pure pride but the fact that you truly needed this reset. Although he admired and looked up to your hard work ethic, even the most brilliant of brains needed rest. Those test materials, patients and everything else would be there when you awoke..but for now, you could focus on yourself!

taglist: idenwhims @blaxcunicorn @valentineluvu @cocoacunt @charminstasia @star0bsessi0n @mrsackermanfeed @aquabby21