✮ ⎨Game(s): DBD, LNM, FNAF GAMES, COD GAMES, ROBLOX, SONIC GAMES, UNDERTAIL, SPIDER-MAN, FINDING FRANKIE, THAT REALLY OLD GAME WITH THE CRYING WITCH THAT LIKES TO ACT ALL INNOCENT BEFORE ATTACKING YOU💔(if you know what I'm talking..I forgot the name of that game..)
✮ ⎨ Musicals: HAMILTON, EPIC: THE MUSICAL, WICKED, HEATHERS, SIX THE MUSICAL, HADESTOWN, PROBABLY MORE I CAN'T THINK OF ON TOP OF MY HEAD RN!
✮ ⎨Show(s)/anime(s): HXH, HAIKYUU, FRUIT BASKET, TBHK, NARUTO, JJK, MHA, DEATH NOTE, GREY'S ANATOMY, YOU
✮ ⎨Movie(s): ANY HORROR FILMS, 9, CORPSE BRIDE, ELF, SCARY MOVIE, GROWN UPS, SONIC MOVIES, FNAF 1/2
✮ ⎨Animals!: BEARS, HORSES, WOLVES.
THINGS I HATE!
✮ ⎨Hates!: tomatoes and needles and smoking🍃(tried it three times and I was GONE😭 never again.), Weird ass shit, relationships but yearns for it sometimes.
LIKES!
✮ ⎨Loves/likes!: READING, MY NATIVE CULTURE❤️, MUSIC, DRAWING, WATCHING HORROR MOVIES, TRUE CRIME, GHOST HUNTING, ROBLOX, GREEK MYTHOLOGY, DOGS, CREEPYPASTA, SALLY FACE, SONIC GAMES, SUB!CHARACTERS—I MEAN WHAT???, CLASSIC MUSIC, DINOSAURS, PLAYING THE VIOLIN.
—------------------------------------- ✉︎ ✢✦
Anyways, don't mind me. I js be on here to have fun! Whatever happens, happens. Don't blame me if my reposts are different from different fandoms🥀
Batfamily x Vampire!Reader
2.7k words, graphic description of violence and aftermath, use of [y/n]
November 12th.
Winter starts early in Gotham.
It’s cold, but not as cold as it should be. Your friend stands beside you shivering.
“You sure you don’t want my jacket?” You ask, eyebrows raised in concern as you eye her.
“I’m fffine.” She says, teeth chattering. “Aren’t you freezing?”
You shrug and move to peel off your coat anyway. Jen doesn’t protest when you drape it over her shoulders, but she doesn’t move to actually put it on. Her subtle way of declaring she’s against the idea, you suppose.
“You’re gonna get sick.” She mutters as you fix your scarf over your nose.
“I think if anyone should be worried about getting sick it’s you.” You mumble. “Is that your mom’s car?”
Her head snaps up eagerly, and you chuckle to yourself as she darts over to the passenger door.
“Wait!” She yips, turning quickly. “Let me give you a ride!”
“I’m okay!” You call back, “Alfred’s coming for me!”
She hesitates for a moment before climbing into her seat. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
You smile and nod, her mom waves and you wave back. “Call me when you get home okay?”
“Okay!!!”
You watch her drive away for a few seconds before checking your watch. 3:50. The manor’s pretty far from your school, but not 50 minute drive far. You know Alfred, if he hasn’t gotten here yet, it’s more than likely he forgot. Plus, the sun will be setting in an hour or so, if you wait any longer before giving up, you won’t get home before dark. With that in mind, you start the walk home.
It’s pretty rare for Alfred to forget you like this, but with all the chaos going on at home, you can’t really blame him. Especially when you are the direct cause of the entire mess. It’d been a tough year. Senior classes were much harder than you’d anticipated, and you were just a teenager. Stress and anxiety was bound to mess things up once in a while.
Your teachers had all upped their workload at the same time in preparation for the half-way point exams. You’d dedicated all your free time to studying and cramming for the pop quizzes and class competitions. So much so that you’d forgotten your feeding schedule. Unfortunately, it was easy to miss hunger pangs and dismiss them as stress-related stomach cramps. You hadn’t realized you were hungry until it was far too late, and a disoriented walk home from the movies found you face to face with a mugger.
When you’re deep in bloodlust, it's hard to tell what’s what. The entire week before that had been like a plotless nightmare. Filled with migraines and dizziness and nausea. When you came eye to eye with that man, adrenaline in his veins, blood pumping, his heartbeat in your lungs as he demanded your belongings, you blacked out. You woke up three hours later, curled up under a cardboard box in a dumpster. A dumpster that you noted, was nowhere near the alley you last remember being in.
You were pleasantly warm, sleepy, and no longer in any pain, which was all very nice, but the sticky-dry feeling of matted blood drying to your skin and clothes was enough to rouse you. You pulled yourself out, sharp nails retracting into your fingertips as you did.
You kept yourself to the shadows when you transformed, disappearing into a puff of grey smoke and reappearing as an ugly little vampire bat. The first issue was getting back home and getting clean before anyone saw you. The second, perhaps bigger, issue was what the hell happened to the mugger.
Sneaking in was easy. You could practically see their heat signatures through the walls, smell Bruce’s cologne, hear Damian’s pacing. If your senses were right, and they almost always were, there were four people inside the manor. Bruce, Alfred, Damian, and Tim. You flew into the open window of the restroom on the third floor, nearby your bedroom.
You looked even worse than you expected. Your entire body was red, like you’d been dunked in paint, it dried in patches and flaked off into dust when you moved. Despite the clarity of mind and ease of movement that came with fresh blood, you felt sick. There was something thick and fibrous under your nails, pieces of thin pink membrane that clung to your body like a second skin. The sickness was mental, of course, remnants of being human. Your mouth tasted warm in a lovely way and you were a little perturbed at how normal this all was. Your reflection looked monsterous, hair matted with blood, body red, eyes glowing faintly.
You heard the news in the morning. A murder in Newtown, a body ripped to shreds, Gotham News declaring it an animal attack. The damage was done though, the Bats had heard what had happened.
Two years ago, when you first became a vampire, a similar thing happened. You didn’t know what you were then, you thought you could tough out the hunger pains. Wayne Manor was distracted, everyone in a frenzy, no one noticed when you got sick, or when you disappeared. You wandered the slums of Gotham for three days. Pale, sweating, vision so sharp it made you nauseous. No one went up to you, no one asked if you were okay. Your new senses overwhelmed you, your new body screamed in pain. Eventually, a man found you. Ushered you into a warehouse, practically dragged you while your body betrayed itself. Hands tugged at your wrist, your hair, your clothes. It was when that hand grabbed your face, squished your cheeks together painfully, that something snapped.
You came to your senses an hour later. An ocean of blood and bodies staining the ground. You ran.
You woke up stronger the next day. The blood was exactly what your body needed to nourish your new form. To finish adapting to this new life. Your vision was clear, the colors you saw were brighter, the darkness didn’t blind you, you could even see heat signatures if you tried. Your muscles fibers were denser, tightly packed, your bones were stronger, your skin was clear and soft, old scars lightened, injuries faded in hours.
All at the cost of thirty four lives. Not innocent lives, but human lives. Lives you hadn’t even realized you were taking. It perplexed the world, scared it. But eventually it was brushed under the rug the way stuff always is in Gotham. Dark Seid took the blame, and you got better at this new life. Better at hiding, covering up, getting blood without killing. You broke into bloodbanks, used animals, even drugged criminals to poach their blood on occasion. You didn’t kill, you didn’t leave bodies or witnesses. Still, people whispered. You were an urban legend deep in Gotham. The creature in the shadows. Some called you Karma, some called you Fate, some called you The Beast.
The Bats never forgot what happened, it didn’t make sense, it didn’t fit the apparent answers. But it never happened again, so they had no cause to pursue the issue, no reason to spend time pondering a mystery when they had real issues to worry about.
But now it had happened again in Newtown, and you knew Bruce wouldn’t let it go.
And now here you are, walking home. It’s cold, but temperatures don’t really bother you anymore.
4:20. You have half an hour to get home before the sun sets and you’re not even halfway there. You made good time, nearly two miles in thirty minutes, but you live over twenty miles from school. You could run, if you kept yourself at a human pace you could get home in a little over two hours, but sprinting in Gotham while wearing clothes clearly not made for exercise is usually a bad sign. People might think you were running from someone. You decide, instead of running or walking, to catch a train.
At 4:38, you exit Gotham Train Station and hail a cab. Cabs are risky, you never know who’s behind the wheel till you get in, but it’s miles of bridge and forest from here, and there's no way in hell you'll be caught alone in the forest in the dark. You’re lucky, because the person in the driver's seat today is an older gentlewoman who seems as relieved to have you as a passenger as you are to have her as a driver. You get home at 4:49.
The manor is empty, but you can hear the sounds of footsteps and voices in the basement. You stop by the kitchen to get something to chew on. Contrary to popular beliefs, vampires could eat human food. They didn't need to, but it was nice to be human, even if it was only pretend.
You bump into Alfred on the way out.
“Oh! Miss [Y/n]!” He says, a polite smile on his face.
“Hi Alfred.” You smile and nod. Expecting him to sidestep you and move on. He seems like he’s about to, until a thoughtful expression crosses his face.
“When did you get home?” He asks.
“Just now.” You answer, he frowns.
“I was supposed to pick you up tonight.” He says, his words almost sound like a question.
“It’s fine.” You say.
“How did you get back?”
“I took the train and hailed a cab.”
“Ah.” He nods. “I’m terribly sorry miss, I must’ve gotten caught up cleaning.”
“It’s fine, Alfred.” You say and step to the side. You nod at him, and walk away before he can say something else. You can’t really be mad. It’s your fault they’re all so stressed, even if they don’t know that. You try to ignore how he looks at you as you leave.
When you were bitten, you distanced yourself from him, from all of them. Originally it was to give you time to pull yourself together, but as time went on, you never really got back to normal. Sure, you were used to being tucked away, you weren’t a vigilante, nor did you have any interest in being one. You weren’t a part of the family business, and sometimes that meant you weren't at the forefront of their minds. They still cared about you, but they were busy, they had responsibilities, lives of their own, complexes and complexities you could hardly understand. It didn’t mean they cared about you less, it just meant that you weren’t always a part of their world.
Sometimes you wonder about that though. It’s easy to tell yourself you're part of the family, it’s easy for them to say you are, but when it comes down to it, when the answer is more than yes or no, could you really say you were?
You could go days without seeing any of them, they were always so busy, you knew that. Even when one of them could finally be convinced to take a break, it would be selfish of you to demand that that precious time be spent with you, especially when you were so boring, so uninteresting. You couldn’t demand their time, especially when you didn’t need it. Not like how the others need it, not like how Damian needed their love, like how Tim needed their patience, like how Dick needed their time, like how Cass needed their care. You didn’t have issues like Jason, you didn’t need somewhere to stay like Duke. You were just there. You were simple, easy.
But none of that was really true anymore, was it? You did have an issue, you did need time, care, patience. You needed someone to look at you and tell you you weren’t a monster. That it was okay to cry over your kills, that you weren’t bad for doing what you needed to to survive. But you never had any of that before, so how could you ask for it now? When it requires coming clean, putting a bigger burden on them, explaining that you’ve been lying for two years. How could you ask for that?
You learned on your own, did everything on your own. You learned to be okay, be content, to find love in your friends, to find patience in yourself. And you’re okay now, sometimes. It never solved the original issue, but you could ignore it until you felt better. You could cry at night and feel pretty in the morning, you could wrap your arms around your head to drown out the pounding and wrap your arms around yourself to love what no one else will. What you’ve convinced yourself no one else will.
You’re okay being here, even if there are nights you wish you weren’t sometimes. Even if some nights you wish you weren’t anywhere.
Breathe out. Don’t give control to your pain. Look at the walls when you walk to your room, appreciate the architecture, think of something bigger than yourself. Look at the paintings on the walls, think of your ancestors and the lives they lived. Bump into your father on the third floor.
“[Y/n]?”
His hands land on your arms to steady you. It’s instinctive on his part, you didn’t stumble at all. Too balanced with your inhumane body.
“You’re cold.” He murmurs, eyebrows furrowed when he makes eye contact. His voice is deep, you haven’t heard it in a while.
“Just came in.” You say. He stares at you for a while. You can almost see the cogs turning in his brain, remembering who you are maybe, or realizing he hasn’t seen you in awhile, or something else you can’t figure out.
“Where’s your coat?” He asks, his palms rubbing up and down your arms. It’s a gesture meant to be fatherly, you think. You don’t see him much anymore so the gesture is just awkward, but the rare attention gives you pause. You don’t know how to talk to him, you realize. Besides the one-off family dinner once a month, you almost never see him, even at those dinners, if he tries to talk to you, it's awkward. He hesitates when he asks how your day was. Asks about friends like he's questioning if you even have them. Asks about grades like it actually matters to him. You realize this might be the first time he’s talked to you without a reason in over a year.
“Gave it to a friend.” You murmur, torn between making eye contact and avoiding it. “She was cold.”
“Oh.” He breathes, then takes a step back like he just realized he may be crowding you. “..thats.. nice.” He hesitates. “But you could’ve gotten sick. You shouldn’t do that next time.” He straightens. Like he’s remembered he’s your father and can be authoritative. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, you realize. He doesn’t know you. You stare at him for a moment. For no reason at all, your eyes start burning.
“Okay.” You say, voice weak. “I won’t do it again.”
Looking at him like this is overwhelming. He’s just a few feet in front of you, tall and elegant and imposing. You think he’s as lost as you are. You think you might be scared of him.
“Did you eat dinner?” He asks after a moment.
You stare at him, mouth open like you’re going to say something, but you hesitate. Does he care? Is he going to ask you to eat with him? Did you eat?
“Yes.” You mumble.
He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but he nods anyway.
“Alright.” He says slowly.
“I.. I think I’m gonna go to bed.” You mutter, he nods.
“Right.. good night [Y/n]” He says.
“Night, Bruce.” You say quietly and pad off.
He turns around when he realizes what you’ve said, but you’ve already disappeared into your room.
when your husband is supposed to be the rational one, you don’t expect to find him standing at the foot of the bed with his cock in his hand.
but that’s where satoru ends up. tank top pushed halfway up his ribs, belt hanging from one loop, pants around his knees. his fist works up and down the fat length of his cock in rough strokes, spit and precum smeared down to his balls. he’s staring at you the whole time, at the curve of your hip under the sheet, the flutter of your lashes against your cheek. pregnant. glowing. carrying his baby.
and he’s rutting into his hand like some desperate virgin.
the panties he stole from the laundry basket are bunched in his other hand, pressed to his face. he inhales it, shuddering so hard that the flimsy fabric trembles against his nose. your scent has him sobbing out a noise that doesn’t sound him at all.
“fuck, baby—” the words rip out of him, pitched high. “smell so good... oh fuck, i can’t stop...”
his cock is obscene. flushed dark, veins raised under the skin, the head slick enough to shine in the faint glow of the bedside lamp. precum drips in heavy strings down his balls, thick enough to coat his knuckles. every stroke drags more slick out of him—schlick, schlick, schlick.
he sucks at the fabric like it could feed him, panting between licks, nose buried deep so he could breathe you in while his tongue works. “god, i'd eat you out for days if i just—mnhm!—if i just had the chance...”
his hips snap forward into his own fist, cock smacking his stomach with each thrust. precum splatters onto his tank top, dripping onto the hardwoods.
disgusting. a husband rutting into his fist because he’s too scared to touch his pregnant wife.
but satoru can’t stop. he’s babbling now, words spilling fast and needy. “want it so bad—fuck, i’d worship you, i'd never stop—”
he chokes on a sob as his balls tighten up, cock jerking violently in his grip. the sound he makes is straight up humiliating, a high and euphoric whine.
cum spurts out in heavy ropes, painting his stomach, his abs, fist, and the floor. lewd, thick jets that won’t stop, spilling like his body is trying to empty years of frustration at once. it drips down the backs of his fingers, strings across his knuckles, sprays his shirt. he gasps, still pumping through it, cock twitching violently.
“ah—mnhg—too much...” more cum leaks out, drooling down his cock, streaking his thighs. his knees buckle and he braces one hand on the nightstand, forehead dropping against the wood with a hollow thud.
when it’s finally over, when the spurts slow to tiny dribbles, he’s still shaking so hard he can barely breathe. his cock still pulses against his stomach, half-hard like it doesn’t know how to stop.
and you’re still asleep, lips parted beautifully while he stands there.
summary: landing in an alternate dimension—you're certain this version of damian who finds you should hate you as much as your damian does. but when he pulls you in so tight as if he's experienced losing you before.. you realise he isn't so willing on letting you go.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: alternate dimension damian who finds you which makes the yearning 1000x worse, 'ill choose you in every lifetime' trope, angst-comfort
It's been twenty minutes since you ended up in another dimension. A stupid argument. An accidental trigger. Of course, none of that comes close in comparison to the complete shock of Damian Wayne crushing you with his embrace.
No. Embrace is too soft a term for how tightly squeezed you are—the lack of space making it easy for you to detect how his body is physically shaking.
You're covered in soot, dust particles still emanating from where your form had materialised—from where your first instinct had been to press the emergency contact on your comms. Damian had found you not long after. You still remember how quickly your fury had been extinguished the moment you caught sight of his pale expression, the sheer disbelief in the open gape of his lips.
Damian hates you. That fact is precisely the reason you ended up here, in a whole other dimension. That instinctive reminder is what forces you to push yourself out of his embrace, and his own hands go slack as he stares at you wordlessly.
"Why'd you follow me in—you idiot!" You snap, trying to brush off how taken off-guard you are. "I can't believe we're both stuck here."
He blinks once. "Stuck?"
"You should've pieced this together faster than I did." Gesturing to your surroundings, your arms still ache from having crashed through a construction site. "We're stuck in another dimension all thanks to you."
He blinks again, slower this time. Processing. "Where exactly did you come from?"
"Did the fall injure your head?" Your impatience brims over your exhausted features. "Isn't it enough that you had to start something in the lab? We wouldn't have ended up here if you hadn't been so insistent on triggering the portal."
His features remain stoic, but there's a familiar calculation in his gaze. His lips part after a moment. "Portal."
It's infuriating how long he's taking to catch onto the reality of what's just happened. You give a short nod, your growing panic stuck between your teeth. If Damian's here with you, there's no telling if you'll be able to make a connection back to your dimension.
"I suppose you are right." His brows remain furrowed in consideration. "But there is one thing you're missing."
Leave it to him to counter every point of yours, needing to be right as always. A heavy sigh leaves your lips. "And what is that?"
"I'm not your Damian."
Those words still ring hollow, a repeating drone of his voice as you watch the familiar city pass by the windowpane. It is Gotham, but not. Unfamiliar stores fill the streets, similar roads but not quite, small inconsistencies that are enough to remind you that this isn't your home.
That the person in the driver's seat beside you is a complete stranger.
"Who am I to you?" You question, casting your glance back to that stiff, perfect posture of his as he makes a turn towards his apartment.
That hug from earlier, if you could even call it that, still lingers like a shadow, casting goosebumps over your skin whenever the memory overstayed its welcome.
You spot the whitening of his knuckles, the pads of his fingers squeezing into the steering wheel before the colour returns, as if his composure never faltered.
"You were my assigned partner." He answers briskly.
Were. There's finally one consistency, at the very least. To your relief, the version of you here didn't seem to get along with him either.
Your small amusement is quickly diminished at the rise of another concern of yours. If there was another version of you running around this city, you can't even begin to fathom the potential fractures of reality if an encounter truly happened.
You're already playing a huge risk in letting this Damian assist you. Still, you had no one else.
Your comms had contacted him, not that it was to any surprise of your own once the initial panic died down. It wasn't likely that you still had a connection to your own world, much less an existing channel with your Damian. It was pure luck that you still had use for the device at all. Or at least, you hoped you could consider it luck.
Your gaze lingers over his features. The likeness between him and your Damian was uncanny. The same nose bridge, freckles, and even that faint scar running down his jawline. It was all so familiar that you had to snap yourself out of it when you found your body conditioning itself into safety, as if forgetting he's a stranger.
"Well, I hope you'll let bygones be bygones." You answer wryly. "There wasn't anyone else I could contact. If you can help me find a way back home, I'll be out of your dimension in no time."
The silence grows terse. A shift has occurred, even if you're unsure on the why. You had only stated the obvious. Perhaps his moods were in line with what you were familiar with after all, and that is no soothing relief if it meant having to face that same temperament that landed you here.
"I'm already offering my help." Damian answers after a moment, as if he's finally settled for a response he was satisfied with.
"I hope so." You mutter, eyelids falling shut in your exhaustion. The sight of the city was making you nauseous. "It's kind of your fault I ended up here. The other you, anyways."
He hums, finger tapping once against the steering wheel. "Typical."
This Damian has an apartment akin to a serial killer's. The barest necessities, minimal decorations—it's as if every surface has gone untouched. If you hadn't seen it with your own eyes when he unlocked the door with his thumbprint, you would've assumed no one had ever stepped foot within these walls.
"Ever heard of decoration?" It lands wrong, and you internally wince. It's difficult, to not fall back into that same push-and-pull when you see Damian's figure in your peripheral vision. To not be mistaken with familiar company.
He watches you for longer than he should. He keeps doing that, the staring. "There's no reason for me to do so." He answers eventually.
Your brows furrow. Something about his responses from the moment you met him unnerved you, as if he's leaving his words purposely vague. Clues buried within that mask of his, where an unanswered story that didn't belong to your reality lingers in his.
"Where am I currently in your dimension?" You decide to settle at the sofa, stretching out your limbs. "If she's still in Gotham, I need to be careful not to be seen."
Ever since you arrived, your body has been aching horribly. It hadn't been this obvious when you had arrived, but now, it's stinging down to your nerves. Maybe the adrenaline had finally worn off, and you're left to deal with a body unequipped to the frantic mess your mind is trying to sort out.
"It won't be a problem." He answers, lips pursing into a thin line. "She's gone."
Your head tilts questioningly to meet his gaze, but he avoids yours. Pulling open his kitchen drawer, there's a taut tension in his body as if he's been expecting your question and dreading it all the same.
Gone could mean anything. Out of the city borders or—
Your eyes flicker down to his disappearing hand, and find his reappearing fingers gripped around pain ointment. Your stretch pauses halfway, the strange alertness of being noticed without your permission sending a chill down your spine.
Forcing your hands down back to your sides, you eye him warily as he makes his way round the couch, stopping before you. His hand extends, lifting his offering silently.
It's unfamiliar, and even if you try your hardest to reason to yourself, that this isn't the Damian you know, it doesn't make it any easier to allow him to assist you. You half expect mocking, a glimpse of his smirk when your gaze flickers to the ointment held out in front of you.
A low breath escapes his lips, and you expect him to give in. To understand that you don't require more of him other than his specific assistance to send you home—only for him to lower himself.
Damian Wayne—even if he isn't the one you're used to—is kneeling down to meet your gaze. Your breath stops, your chest seized tight as you stare at him, unable to hide your surprise.
He doesn't falter, his fingers mindlessly dipping into the ointment before placing the jar by your side. His free hand goes to grip your wrist, tugging gently to expose the bruises trailing along your arm from your fall.
"If it is me you have come to for assistance." He mutters with a click of his tongue. "Then, I expect you not to be stubborn."
You swallow, your jaw ticking as you find your tongue heavy with a lack of an adequate response. His unwavering concern, this intensity can't be tied solely to you. There has to be a reason for why he is looking at you this way.
"What did you mean?" You ask quietly. "By gone?"
His fingers, still coated with the ointment, brush gently over your thudding pulse. His gaze finally lifts, but you can't read him. There's a pull to his gaze, and the answer reveals itself by the time you recognise what is held within his eyes isn't irritation or indifference. It was grief.
"She's dead."
It's a strange feeling to know you're stepping into a world where a version of you used to exist. A sick form of good luck, a technical elimination of complications.
Except that it's only made everything more complicated. You had no idea on how to deal with the Damian in front of you now that the truth's been revealed.
When he first admitted that he wasn't the Damian you knew, you had quickly assumed that whatever dynamic he shared with you from this dimension was a parallel to the one you shared with your Damian. Forced tolerance, a begrudging partnership. No, you had needed to assume it so. Anything different would have shattered this fragile alliance you had with the stranger sitting across you, because despite everything you felt about your Damian—you relied on him as a partner.
Now, you weren't sure if you could trust the Damian in front of you. You had assumed that if he answered your questions, you would have cleared the air—but it has only raised more.
You can feel his attention while you're thinking. You swear with the intensity of his gaze casted onto you which you pretend not to notice, it's as if your existence only materialised when his eyes are on you. There's a strange urgency in his unblinking stare, as if to remind himself that you're still in front of him.
It's too much. It was the same back when he first saw you as well. Damian hasn't mentioned his strange reaction since, and his lack of an explanation for why he had embraced you clues you on nothing still, on what you meant to him.
"I'm not her." You mutter after a moment. You don't know why, but you feel you have to say it.
There's some form of attachment he must've had with you, and you couldn't let yourself be tangled into the mess of what's been left behind. This isn't your world, and the last thing you needed was a blur of that line.
"I know." He answers quickly. Without pause, as if he's been repeating it to himself before you had even verbalised it.
Your hesitance must be palpable because he lets out a sigh not long after, heavy from his chest.
"I didn't offer you my help because I think you're—" He swallows, pain etched into the lines of his grimace. "I understand that you are alone in this world. That some mistake of mine from your end caused this. I am taking responsibility for it—to bring you back. There is nothing more to it."
You watch him as he did to you, noting a delicate fragility to him you've never seen before. You had been so wrapped up in your situation, that you failed to notice the frantic quality of his gaze or the exhaustion plaguing his features. As if being around you—drained him from the impossibility of seeing you alive and breathing.
"Okay." You answer eventually. "I believe you."
His shoulders, tense and taut, finally loosen slightly at your response.
"Do you—" Your voice is plagued with exhaustion, and you struggle to find the words, the composure to hide your desperation. "—have any idea on how I'll be able to get back?"
Relief flickers briefly in his gaze, replaced with a familiar efficiency that slots over the dark pool his eyes held mere seconds ago. This, you were used to. Whenever he was asked to perform a duty, that was when you both cooperated the easiest.
"If it were me, I'd predict that there will be a two-way mechanism." He suggests automatically. So, he had been considering his own theories this entire time.
Leaning in, his elbows pressing against his thighs, he continues. "An entry will not be possible without a tunnel. To find the connection and restart it as you had before in your dimension, it should trigger an opening."
"I also considered the possibility of a tunnel." You frown, your fingers drawing a thin, edged line across the sofa's fabric. "The only problem is that when I arrived, before contacting you—I looked around the premise. I really tried."
"There was no opening." You admit, dread digging slowly into your bones.
"Perhaps it will only be activated if it was triggered in the same process as before." He suggests.
"...Doesn't that rely on Damian—" You falter, meeting his gaze. "—my Damian restarting the trigger on his side?"
He nods, even as his lips purse slightly at the mention of the other him. "Your only chance depends on him coming to the same realisation we have."
You draw a short breath. "Shit."
Damian doesn't hesitate when you ask by the third hour of silence—to accompany you back to the construction site when the passing hours has done enough in driving you insane.
You hate waiting. Your Damian knows that. This Damian seems to know too.
He follows you like a silent shadow, tracing your steps and overlooking the same rubble caused by your fall as you try to find an anomaly. Anything that proves to your stubborn anxiety—that you are actually doing something to feel less trapped.
"There is nothing here." He states.
"You don't know that." You wish your voice sounded stronger. "I wasn't in my right mind when I landed. I might identify something I missed."
His jaw ticks once, but he doesn't stop you. He doesn't argue—and that unnerves you. The Damian you know doesn't hesitate when picking a fight, and frankly—you miss that. You needed something to distract you—and he was merely standing there like he was watching a phantom.
"I thought you said you would help." Your voice breaks.
Fuck. Swallowing back your revealed fright, you finally slump down onto the dust-covered concrete, pressing your palm against your eyes.
You hear a shuffle, the fabric of his coat landing heavy next to you. You uncover your eyes, catching him as he crouches beside you. His gaze meets yours head-on—and you nearly drown in the weight of it.
"There's no relief in digging through a dead-end." He mutters, peering over your features. "It'll only worsen the thoughts."
You grow quiet. You didn't need a verbal confirmation, not when just his gaze alone tells, that he wasn't only talking about your situation. Your chest heaves, the scent of concrete filling your nostrils.
The silence stretches, an uncomfortable sensation of helplessness filling the air.
"...Do you like pizza?" He asks after a moment.
Blinking once, you must've misheard it. You can't help the snort that escapes you, the sound broken and unsteady. "What?"
"I dislike it." He mutters. "The ones in Gotham. It's too much grease, and lacking of any true nutrients."
That... sounds very Damian of him.
You raise a brow, and his lips purse together. Letting out a regretful sigh, he gestures with a tilt of his head. "There's an adequate franchise down the street."
Lifting himself off the ground, he holds out his hand towards you. "Since this dreadful day has been awfully unproductive, I suppose a meal like that is befitting."
Your gaze flickers between his hand and that unfamiliar, warmth in his eyes. Of how you had been in a similar position mere hours ago when he had offered you pain ointment. Of how he has been consistently extending his hand towards you, accompanying your side—ever since you entered this dimension.
This time, you take his hand.
Strangely enough, the fluorescent lights of 'Gotham City Pizzeria' and the smell of floor disinfectant—combined with the peculiar sight of Damian lifting a soggy pizza slice with a grimace did lift your spirits. If this was your dimension, you would have bothered with taking a picture to capture the sight of him clashing with an environment so strongly, but you couldn't afford to let this rare moment of normalcy be dimmed by that reminder.
"Should I be concerned that the Damian Wayne in this dimension consumes Gotham pizzas?" You murmur, wiping a streak of tomato at the corner of your mouth.
His lips quirk up slightly. "Even I have my faults."
Clearing his throat, he murmurs. "Your turn."
You raise a brow, confused.
He leans back, dusting his hands against the napkin. "I haven't learned anything about you since you arrived."
Oh. You had assumed that he didn't want to. Outside of the boundaries of your circumstance, he hasn't really pushed much further other than details he needed to have, to piece a solution together.
"What do you want to know?" You shrug.
His lips tilt upwards again, more intently this time. "Do you like pizza?"
Your smile lifts instinctively. "I do, detective. How'd you guess?"
His smile strains a little, and you realise why.
"Ah." You murmur.
"No." He stops you before you can retreat. "Don't stop on my account. I want to know what you like."
You swallow, fingers running over the crust flakes coating your thumb. You suppose you could answer, there wasn't any harm done. "I do like pizza. It's the only thing that's comforting enough after a long night of patrol. I think when I enter a familiar place at an hour like this, when there's no one else around, it's like the world closes in to exist in just this spot, y'know? I get to forget about my worries for a little while."
He nods, listening to you speak as if he intended on memorising every word. Like he may miss the chance to do so ever again.
"So, why'd you pick this place?" You return the question.
"...As I told you before, I'm not fond of it."
"So, why are you here?" You push.
A slow exhale escapes his mouth. "I suppose, it was like you said. Comforting—in a sense, to be surrounded by something familiar."
You can see him struggling, on what to say and what to keep buried. This provided company of his—it's like you're digging into a wound he's openly showing you.
"What else do you like?" He reiterates.
Your smile reappears, almost easing. "Need a full catalogue?"
"Yes." He answers almost immediately. It takes the breath out of you, the humour still stuck on your tongue with the way he looks at you, all-consuming. "I would."
"I suppose... I could tell you things I never told anyone." You whisper almost conspiratorially. "Something tells me you'll keep quite a good secret."
His lips lift, curving a small dimple by his cheek. "I swear."
"I guess..." Leaning your cheek against your palm, you take your time in truly looking at him. "I always did like your eyes."
He blinks, not expecting your answer. "My eyes?"
"Yeah." Your grin comes easier to you now, seeing him uncharacteristically flustered. "Made me unreasonably jealous at times. Green eyes like that, and you spend half the time glowering."
He scoffs lowly, but it holds no bite. "I wasn't aware there was a way to utilise them."
"No, you do it right when you're not thinking too hard." You murmur, lost in thought. "When you don't pretend to be strong, your eyes go soft. Just around the edges."
The moment those words leave you, you realise you're pushing too far, saying something so intimate, it should have never been verbalised.
He watches you, and to your dismay, he does it right then and there. The sharpened edges around his gaze softens, and so does Damian.
"You're direct." He mutters, almost fondly.
You swallow, averting your gaze. "So I've been told."
"I like that."
You shift your focus back to him immediately, a soft thudding in your chest. He has never averted his gaze. Rarely, you realise, does he pull his attention away from you. It's like he's treasuring it, the small impossibility of this conversation, of your presence in this pizzeria illuminated by the neon lights.
"Do you feel like you're dreaming?" You ask. "It feels like I know you even though I shouldn't."
His lips quirk. "It is a fair exchange for reality, if I get to meet you."
Your heart is thudding louder now, and you don't find it instinctive anymore to avert his gaze, no matter how much the depth feels like drowning.
"A once in a lifetime phenomenon." You declare. "Let's not waste it."
Gotham's cityscape takes a less intimidating turn in the weeks following your exploration with Damian, as the hidden beauty within begins to reveal itself. The confusing streets become interesting puzzles, a guessing game on what road could be an alternative to the ones you frequent in your dimension. When night falls? That's when this Gotham truly sings, coming alive.
Without the late nights being reserved for the sole purpose of patrol, Damian guides you within the ins-and-outs of alleyways, leading you through slot machines, bars that still had the hum of human company despite the late hour. Eventually, you both land on a rooftop that lets you oversee the entire city.
It's terrifyingly easy to enjoy his company when you're not busy pretending otherwise. There's a symphony to your shared steps, the trailing of his shadow that plays out like a familiar, comforting rhythm.
"It's different." You mutter almost excitedly. The faint buzz of exhaustion from the late hour leaves you increasingly lax, your hand tugging at his sleeve towards the Wayne Tower in the distance. "Ours is all red hues and sharp angles. I like yours more."
He hums, sounding amused. His gaze is still trained on you, not focused on your pointed finger towards the building at all. Letting out a huff, your hand, numbed by the freezing wind, lifts to cup his cheek.
He blinks, a rare vulnerable expression crossing his features at your touch.
"Stop looking at me." You gesture, trying to tune his head towards the cityscape. "You're missing out."
"No, I'm not." He answers honestly.
You blink, hand faltering over his cheek, but he raises his own to cover yours.
"Sorry." He murmurs, lashes lowering with his gaze as he closes his eyes momentarily. "Allow me to be a little selfish, just this once."
Your fingers shake in response, but you don't remove your hand.
"That's not very fair of you." You mutter.
"I suppose I have never practiced that trait well." Opening his eyes, you're faced with that tenderness, the one that leaves you breathless. "Does it make me hateful?"
"No." You answer honestly. "You've always been bad at that."
"At being fair?" He asks.
"Making me hate you." You admit quietly.
His gaze softens imperceptibly. "I suppose we're both not very good liars."
The touch of his cheek burns your skin. This is dangerous, your mind faintly warns you. You promised yourself to never hesitate in your decision, not even after meeting him. You were always meant to go home.
He spots your hesitance, and his warmth falters. His lips set back into that familiar, distant line as he lets your hand go.
"I apologise if I over-stepped." He says before you even have time to clear the air.
"No, that isn't it." You wince, drawing your hand back to scratch at your cheek. "I was just thinking. Maybe—it isn't so bad if I could stay a little longer. There's no guarantee on when the portal will open again, so it's not a ruled out possibility."
Your suggestion is a toss into the wind. A complete silent, interpretation that maybe that's what he'd like as well.
You don't even have time to process the slight hope in his gaze, the consideration of your words before something—no everything seizes. Your body collapses to the ground, the pain of your atoms glitching, seizing to exist, and reforming again, is nearly indescribable.
A near howl escapes your bitten lips as you crumple towards the floor, only for Damian to catch you in his arms, down on his knees in front of you. Your fingers grip tight around his wrists, steading yourself as your vision blurs in and out. By the time you've strained your neck to look back up at him, you see the pain contorting his expression, wiping it loose of all composure.
"I—I'm okay." You breathe out, even as you can feel how cold and clammy your skin has become.
He doesn't answer. He merely stares, a rush of emotions flooding too fast through his mind for you to read, before it falters. His grip is your only anchor, but he's trembling too.
"This isn't a good sign." He states, dread falling over his features. "You must return, soon."
"So, you're saying—" You recall his words faintly. "The longer I stay in this dimension, my body will begin to disintegrate?"
Those technical words, theories that sound ridiculous on paper, thread thinly in a reality where your body was now a self-destructive timer. He gives you a short nod, his dark circles illuminated by the hologram of his research. Despite it being your life on the line, he looks wrecked.
What had started out as a happy night, ended with the reminder that you're not only endangering yourself but him. He's faced losing you once, and your existence in this dimension that should have never happened—he might go through it all over again if you don't find the portal in time.
"Damian." You call out, spotting the weak composure he's trying to display. "Look at me."
He refuses to listen, or maybe, he's completely blocked everything out with his gaze trained on the coordinates and running calculations. Standing up from the couch, you move slowly towards him to not startle him. Your hand briefly touches his arm, and he flinches.
"Damian, we've been over this." You speak as calmly as you can. "There's no opening unless it's opened from my side."
"Then, why hasn't he done it?" He snaps.
You blink, taken aback by his reaction.
"I can't—" He swallows, jaw clenched as he stares at you with a raw agony. One he's been hiding from you since you arrived, that you had caught a brief glimpse of when he first embraced you in his panic. "I won't fail you again. I refuse to."
"Damian." Your brows furrow, hands intertwining with his to force him to feel your touch. "I need you to breathe."
His chest heaves, and you recognise a panic attack before he's even verbalised it. Pulling him towards the sofa, you force him to sit, hands still connected with his.
"It isn't fair." Damian shakes his head. "Nothing ever is. Either way, it feels as if I'm losing you all over again."
Your breath trembles in his admission, and you can do nothing but sit here and listen.
"It was my fault." He confesses, grief-stricken. "A mission gone wrong—and my arrogance. I had overestimated the ambush, and we were cornered."
His body goes still as he drowns in his memory. "You hadn't hesitated stepping in the way. I could do nothing but watch."
"I am unworthy for many things." His voice lowers, with such an encompassing belief in his words. "But not being able to save you? That is a punishment I will never recover from."
"To lose you again." He mutters, broken. "I won't know what to do."
"Damian." You whisper. "I'm scared too."
He looks up at you then, and tears are welled in the corners of his lashes.
"But I'm glad." You emphasise, squeezing his hand. "That it's you, that you're the one here with me."
He blinks, barely able to process your words. "Why?"
"Because you have been by my side, from the moment I arrived." You answer genuinely. "Even if it hurts you, and I know it does. You stuck around, and you got to know me. You didn't have to do that, not when it costs you everything to do so."
He swallows, his expression shattered as he listens.
"I would have never known this side of you, if you hadn't found me." You push forward. "And no matter how terrifying it is to be in a whole other dimension without knowing if I'll make it home, it doesn't change that I'm glad I met you."
He breathes out, as if your words were a sucker-punch to his gut. His eyes trace over your features, a hidden longing unravelling the longer he carried out his intent focus, wanting to capture everything.
"Can I be selfish one more time?" His voice is a quiet plea, and you don't resist to how weak it renders you.
You nod gently.
Leaning in, his fingers tremble as he reaches up to brush away a stray strand from your cheek. His warmth lingers over your skin, eventually brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze pours into you. He looks at you the same way he had countless times before, and you had never been able to put it to words. Till now.
When his lips touch yours, it feels like a goodbye. A wish made impossible, fulfilled for only a mere moment. It's softer than you ever expected, gentle in a way you had never been treated from anyone else before.
When you open your eyes, you watch his expression carefully draw back into his composure. He's doing it for you, picking up the pieces that's broken so you won't have to face it.
"Let's get you home." He promises, and you believe it.
As the days pass by, with your body experiencing more frequent glitches, Damian's kindness runs a deeper wound above your heart. Whenever you insist that you're fine so he can focus on his work—he merely accompanies you by your side like some personal torture he inflicts on himself. Whenever your body seizes into another episode, split between the fractures of reality—he's there, waiting for you to reach for him so you can feel real again.
He listens with a seared focus now whenever you tell him stories, of yourself—of your world, like he's running out of time. You both are.
It's the seventh day, when the daily scans of the construction site run by Damian finally begin to detect increasing abnormal activity from where you landed.
"The debris movement seems to reverse every time I run the scan." He mutters. "As if there's a disruption in the space."
You swallow dryly, eyeing the replay he's showing you. "Do you think it could mean.."
"Yes, I'm certain." Damian nods firmly. "The portal is being triggered on the other side. The only concern now is when we should be at the site."
This... is it. Despite everything you've prepared and anticipated for, the obvious fact that you should be relieved you have a chance of making it home—the realisation comes with a bitter-sweet note.
Damian doesn't comment further past the facts. He merely focuses on the hologram screen, inputting commands to verify an estimate window to make rounds at the construction site. Despite calling himself selfish, you had never seen him so composed, silent on his true thoughts of this discovery.
"In two days." He answers, staring unblinkingly at the figure. "We won't miss it."
That settles it. In two days... you're going home.
"I hate waiting."
"I am aware." Damian murmurs.
"Stop agreeing with me." You sigh.
"Alright."
Your head snaps, an unamused expression taking over your features.
His gaze flickers from his device to meet yours briefly, and his lips quirk up slightly. "Sorry." His voice doesn't sound apologetic at all. "You've made it too easy."
You can't help but scoff, chin leaning against his shoulder. "This is worse than the glitches."
"Have I mentioned that you're a horrible liar?" He mocks.
"Numerous times." You hum, eyeing the scan with a narrowed glance. "What if your calculations are wrong?"
"I ran over them one thousand and fifty-three times." He frowns. "The chance for error are near zero."
"Wow, from the looks of it—you seem rather eager to get rid of me." You tease.
"Was I that obvious?" He shrugs.
"Who's the bad liar now?" You tease.
He opens his mouth, ready to produce some quick retort—but something catches his eye.
Shifting your gaze to follow his, you catch movement from where the ground had been stagnant. The rubble—is beginning to move in an anti-clockwise direction.
"Now." Damian stands abruptly, a hand wrapping around your waist to lift you to your feet.
The shift in the atmosphere as a distant rumbling occurrs beneath your feet, it's much more aggressive than you expected. Damian tugs you back, just in time before a fracture cracks in the ground.
"The portal." You recognise, eyeing the glow beneath the fissure, something dreadfully familiar.
Your breath is almost winded, coming up short as you stare at the formation in trembling anticipation. Your gaze whips to Damian, your heart slamming against your ribcage—only for your words to fail you when you meet his expression.
Broken, that's all you saw. The same way he had seemed when you first met him.
"Damian." You call out, hesitant, but he shakes his head.
"I never got to tell you." He starts.
Your brows furrow. He had been nothing but honest since you got here. There isn’t a wound that he hasn’t uncovered in front of you, no vulnerability he hasn’t revealed. You know him, because he had let you.
"I want you to know that I am glad." He confesses, his voice picking up in pace. He sounds terrified that he won't be able to finish what he's started. "That I got to know you. There wasn't a moment where I regretted it, not even for a second."
"I must tell you." His voice cracks. "That I'd choose you, in a hundred lifetimes, no matter what reality, I'd always choose you."
The words are lost on your tongue. I'd choose you too. He has to know, even when the tears well up in your eyes.
He holds you tight, as if he's trying to sear this very embrace into his memory. "At least, I'll know now that somewhere out there, the person I am in your world was able to bring you back. That a version of me didn't lose you."
"I know it's selfish." He whispers. "But I wish I could keep you."
Contrary to his words, he lets go of you the moment he says it, his arms parting from your frame to remain firmly at his side. He's restraining himself, you realise. Damian, the very image of self-control, is barely keeping himself together. He’s letting you go, and in doing so, he’s saving you.
"Thank you." He murmurs in goodbye, casting you a solemn smile. "For sparing me the mercy of meeting you again."
"I hope he understands just how fortunate he is." A bittersweet smile graces his lips. "That he'll cherish you, and protect you always."
You think you ask him to wait. For more time. You remember briefly on how your hand extended towards him, before the portal had pulled you in. It was silent after that, and the loss of something indescribable hits you by the time the world comes back—roaring to life.
Tumbling onto the ground, you choke out a breath, saliva coating your lips as your fingers press numbly into the ground.
You're home. A quick glimpse of your surroundings is enough to confirm the familiar machinery, the abandoned lab. Yet, flashes of Damian's unmoving gaze before his frame completely disappeared, staring at you like he wanted to commit you to memory.
How could he have called it mercy, when he was so shattered?
Your tears slipped, and you feel a strange gap in your chest.
A rushed call of your name echoes before you can even name the emotion that consumes you. The syllables barely forms in your mind, as your head whips up in a daze. Your tear-stained expression is broken, completely unhidden—when you see Damian. Your Damian.
"Damian." Your voice croaks out. The name sounds strange on your tongue.
He freezes, unsure on how to process this version of you. Whatever he expected when he got you back, he must've never anticipated this. The version that has just lost him, and a part of you always will.
Pushing yourself to your feet, you stumble in your steps before collapsing into him. You're convinced he'll push you away, as he always does.
What you didn't expect was the steady warmth of his arms wrapping around you. Tense, but protective—as if he were trying to fend off the inner turmoil that's consuming you.
"It's alright." He mutters, voice stiff but his grip doesn't falter. "You're safe. I am here."
That breaks a silent sob out of you, and you bury your face into his chest. He doesn't push you for answers, nor does he distance himself. He remains planted exactly where he is, grounding you with his presence while you mourned for something that should have never been yours, and what you should have never lost.
He is embracing you so tight, it gave you a violent sense of déjà vu. The lines are blurring, and you can't find it in yourself to be angry when you know you should be.
"I am sorry." He mutters, voice breaking in composure. "I did this—I am sorry. I failed you."
"No, you didn't." You answer, your voice hoarse. "You brought me back."
It was the truth, broken into a hundred pieces.
In time, you will tell him. Of how he protected you even in another dimension. Of how that version of him will forever know that in another reality, he had saved you. That there was a Damian who didn't experience losing you.
Of how you'll never forget him. Even when he's out of bounds, but forever engraved into your existence, a memory that should have never existed.
But for now, you'll let yourself rest, knowing that you're home.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
[extra pov] - alt! damian + reader’s damian after her return
warnings: Luke Castellan x shy!reader, fem reader intended, fluff
The fire was weak but still crackling in front of you, its warm hue casting a comforting glow on you all as you chatted animatedly on the beach, feet deep in the warm sand.
“Still, we were supposed to be a trio and now the only three I am is third wheel,” you groaned as you looked at your friends, sitting on the same log with their fingers intertwined over the rough bark, but there was no real bite to it.
Silena smiled amusedly, leaning her head into Charles’ shoulder. “Come onnnn, you know you love us together,” she cooed, and like to prove a point, Beckendorf pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
“Yeah, yeah, you guys are cute…but I’m too single for your cheesy shit right now,” you replied flatly, raising a pleading hand to shield your eyes from the view of them.
Your friend suddenly straightened back up, a conspiratory expression on her face as she leaned a little forward, closer to the fire. “You know who else just got very single again today?”
Beckendorf leaned back on the log, looking fondly at his girlfriend, and you didn’t even have time to take a guess before Silena hurriedly continued.
“Connor!”
“Wait, someone was actually dating that guy?” you inquired, raising a surprised brow at the information.
“Yeah, this girl, you know, what’s her name…” Silena turned to Charlie for help, her brows furrowed as she tried to remember.
“Chloe?”
“Yes, Chloe!” she exclaimed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks babe. But yeah, Chloe, the girl from Apollo cabin, she…”
Silena kept on describing a week long relationship you’d apparently missed, and you couldn’t help but feel so at ease. You loved evenings like that, feet in the sun warmed sand, fire crackling in the pit under the starry night, gossiping and laughing loudly and spouting out nonsense but nobody cared. It was the kind of moments in which you felt the most like you could fully be yourself, with people you trusted.
Apparently tonight, that moment was to be cut short.
“Yo, Silena, do we really need to be talking about me like that?” some voice interjected from a little further down the beach behind you.
You turned around, surprised to see three figures walking up to your small circle: Connor, Lee, and Luke. Fuck.
“Boys wonder,” Beckendorf greeted, dabbing them up one by one as Silena simply waved at them. Connor asked if they could join in, and the girl was to tell them to sit down, throwing you a pointed look before tilting her head in direction of Luke, who’d settled right next to you.
Your eyes widened, brows pinched up as you quickly shook your head no to whatever she was implying.
The story with Luke? There was no story to tell. You filed away every micro interaction with him but they were rarely more than a greeting, a nod in your direction before you fled the scene. You appreciated the view from afar, but you were way too anxious to ever get the real version up close.
You weren’t necessarily introverted, just… selective. With your close friends? No filter, just loud laugh and bad jokes, because you knew them as much as they knew you and you trusted them with your whole self never to judge you. When you got just a little out of that circle, though, you’d usually shut down like a clam, closing over yourself and barely uttering a word, content with just listening to people and trying not to be perceived.
So yeah, getting your space invaded by three guys you barely ever talked to? Not great. Somewhat forced proximity with a guy you purposefully avoided because he made you a flustered mess? Even worse.
“But I mean, Connor, she did dump you pretty good, that was entertaining,” Silena exclaimed with a high pitched, mocking laugh, the boy looking like he was slowly sinking into the sand.
You were slowly bringing your knees to your chest, eyes looking at the dancing flames, when Luke leaned in a bit closer, balancing his weight on his elbow in the sand between you two. “You were there when it happened? Pretty spectacular.”
You could feel his gaze on the side of your face, and it was only making you want to retreat in your arms. You kept staring right in front of you at the fire, slowly dying in the pit at the center of the makeshift circle, hoping his attention would just fade away quickly.
“Nope,” you said in a breath, softly shaking your head.
And you couldn’t see it, but the way Luke’s gaze softened when it was on you was noticeable, Silena elbowing her boyfriend on the other side of the circle to show him too. After all, Luke wasn’t really good at hiding it, it probably wasn’t the first time the pair had caught him red-handed like now. You intrigued him, somehow maybe a little more than that even, this girl he couldn’t even get a little close to without her slipping back into her shell. He found it so endearing he found ways to be near you, from time to time, like this exact moment.
Luke held in a soft laugh at your reaction, an easy smile noticeable on his lips. “Want me to tell you?”
You simply shrugged, cheeks burning up already and you could feel it. He probably could see it too, but he didn’t say anything.
“Well basically, Connor hadn’t even got on the steps of cabin 7 and she was waiting for him at the door already,” Luke started in a low voice, so it would only carry to you, and eventually averting his eyes from you to look at the fire too. “And that girl—gods bless her, she looked absolutely mad—, she just started throwing stuff at him, like books and all! She was all ‘you’re such an asshole’ and ‘get out of my face’,” he continued, trying to give the best impression of Chloe’s voice in a hushed scream.
You couldn’t help let out a fit of laughter that you were quick to cut short, burying your face in the arm that rested on your knees.
Again, Luke didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help but mark it down as a small victory somehow, even if it was just a monologue and even if it wasn’t really much of an interaction. Somehow it just made him want to hear you laugh more often, maybe even be the reason behind it. He could work his way up to it, he was patient.
The boy stopped talking after that, leaning back on his hands with his legs extended in front of him at a reasonable distance from you. He laughed with the others, chimed in here and there, and you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him from time to time, watching as the fire sharpened his features and the stars almost reflected in his eyes like they did at the surface of the Long Island sound.
You just observed the conversations as they flowed in front of you, nodding when Silena checked on you from across the flames, letting a small smile peak through when Lee recounted the most hilariously unbelievable stories. Maybe at the back of your head you were trying to find a the perfect moment to slip out unnoticed, sure, but at least you were having a little fun for now.
Just as you felt yourself fading in the background enough, you thought it could be the perfect moment to just retreat back to your cabin and sleep off the tension this whole situation was causing. You threw a glance towards Silena who immediately held your gaze, the silent agreement passing through your eyes like telling her you were gonna leave.
You did a quick check left and right, making sure people were too engrossed in their own conversations to bother pointing out your departure, when your eyes caught Luke’s, staring right back at you. Your eyes widened, his easy grin did too, and suddenly all your thoughts scrambled.
You instinctively stood up to leave, much unlike how you’d planned to do it originally, and the conversations cut off around you. Your internal panic was reaching high levels, your cheeks flushed red, and the physical weight of Luke’s gaze on you as well as everyone one else’s wasn’t helping. So you took in a deep breath, closing your eyes before turning around to the rest of the circle. Noticing their eyes clearly now, the deep breath quickly became shallow.
“I- um…” you stuttered out, clenching and unclenching your fists at your sides. “Goodnight,” you simply breathed out, just distinct enough to be understood, before turning on your feet and walking towards the treeline hurriedly.
Moments after you left, Connor pretty roughly elbowed Luke in his side, the boy groaning at the impact. “Dude! The fuck was that for?”
“We get all the way here after dinner just because you wanna talk to a girl, and then you barely exchange anything!” Connor exclaimed, clearly pissed, before he turned to face Silena and Charles for a second. “I mean, I like you guys, but Luke, you better get your ass over to her and walk her back to her cabin or I’m gonna punch you for forcing me to come all the way to the beach.”
Luke’s face was unbothered as he looked in the direction in which you’d left, same easy smile on his lips, maybe even fonder now. “Come on, don’t be a whiny prick, she’d probably get a heart attack if I did.”
“Dying a guineapig’s death-”
“Shut up, Fletcher,” Silena cut him off immediately, “or I’m personally gonna make you eat your bow.”
Lee raised his hands in surrender, his friends laughing around the circle, Connor turning to Luke again as he looked into the weak flames.
“Seriously though, dude-”
“Nah, I don’t wanna hear your advice, you’re already bad at this stuff on the usual and it might be worse when you received a flowerpot square in the forehead during the day,” Luke teased, tilting his head back to look at the dark sky twinkling with small stars. “I’ll follow her rhythm, maybe it’ll get us somewhere.”
Connor sighed dramatically. “You’re such a s- oof!”
He didn’t even get to finish before Beckendorf shoved his chest to fall back in the sand with a cloud of dust, everyone bursting in a fit of laughter. “Shut up and take example on him, at least Luke didn’t get a book in the stomach today.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever…”
The group carried on teasing Connor about his misfortune—the one he brought upon himself—, but Luke’s mind was already somewhere else, tracing the constellations in the sky and figuring out how to spark a conversation next. He was patient, sure, but he didn’t mind creating his own opportunities to push fate a little in the right direction.
First time writing a shy reader, kinda nervous ( ܸ._.)՞՞
jk but like so not my usual reader i literally had to brainstorm w myself (think.) about how tf to write them. damn.
Synopsis: After publicly humiliating your secret hookup in front of your friends, you discover that Satoru Gojo can hold a grudge—and he's determined to be a brat about it.
Satoru Gojo x Reader
MDNI. fem!reader, popular!reader, loser!gojo, nerdjo once again, porn with a little bit of plot, sub!gojo, mean!reader, dacryphilia, begging, cowgirl, recording, mentions of humiliation kink, slapping, bratty!gojo, anal fingering, blowjob (fem receiving), CNC, mentions of girl cock but not really, strap-on, pegging, whimper audios.
Word Count. 3.4K
Based on this request
Credit to @narutoss.ramen on twt for the pic.
“F-fuck, you’re so tight,” Satoru whined from beneath you as your hips bounced up and down rapidly, your wet pussy clenching his cock in a taut grip.
His glasses were foggy and slipping past his nose. With glossy eyes, he looked up at you, silently begging for—what was he begging for? Mercy. Maybe?
He just looked so pretty like this; his cheeks flushed, pouty lips jutting and trembling as moans and whimpers escaped past them.
Your relationship with Satoru wasn’t really complicated. It started accidentally; an assignment in exchange for a look at your boobs, that was all he wanted— what a pervert, huh? You ended up agreeing, and soon, a look at your boobs ended up as you taking his virginity.
He was cute, you couldn’t deny that, but he was still a biggg loser. You two weren’t friends anyway, so treating him like a fuck buddy in exchange for your assignments and projects was a win-win, and you couldn’t deny it. Satoru had a huge cock.
“Shut up–” You moaned out, a hand wrapping around his throat, putting enough pressure to restrict his air flow. His head was fuzzy now, all thoughts about you as he babbled incoherently, something about your name and— “fuck! L-love you– Nghnnn! Love you! I love you.”
You rolled your eyes at his words, covering his mouth with your other hand. He whined against it, covering your hand with spit.
“You talk too much.” You managed to breathe out, the hand that was around his neck slipped down his chest, past his toned abs, and V-line before reaching your clit.
You rolled your fingers over the sensitive bud, not stopping the torture of your hips against him. He was writhing beneath you, shaky hands holding your waist like a lifeline.
“Mhnmm—close! ‘m close!” He mumbled against your hand, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was such a crybaby.
Your pussy clenched at the sight, making him whimper as you got even tighter around him. His cock was twitching uncontrollably, his thighs tensed as he tried not to cum without permission.
“P-please—“ He begged with muffled words, eyebrows scrunched as he looked at you with puppy eyes. Your hand fell from his mouth, letting his moan escape freely—and loudly. “Please! Let me c-cum…”
Your thighs were aching, and you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten. God, you wanted to cum too, but watching Satoru crumble apart was far better.
He was trying so hard not to cum; eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration as pitiful whimpers left his pouty lips.
“Beg.”
Satoru whined loudly, throwing his head back as he cried out. “I am!”
“Do it better.”
God, you were so mean. He loved it.
“Please—please! Please let me cum, I’ll be good—a good boy, please.” Oh, he was done for. You hummed at his words, a hand settling on his chest, using it as leverage to pick up the pace again.
“F-fuhhh–fuck! Oh, I’m cumming! I’m cumming, please! Please!” He was practically screaming now.
“Cum f’me, ‘toru.” You purred, leaning down to kiss him, swallowing all his pathetic moans.
He came hard. Hands gripping your waist tightly, nails digging into your skin, and you knew he was going to leave marks. Your hand moved up to his neck again, choking him as spurts of thick, warm cum filled you up.
“Mghnmm…”
God, his moans were like honey. It didn’t take long before your orgasm took over your body, back arching against him as your thighs shook. Cunt clenching around his sensitive cock. “Oh, fuck–Satoru…”
And Satoru? Oh, he was in heaven.
Your combined pants and ragged breaths were the only thing that could be heard in his dorm.
Spent you lifted your body, watching as his softening cock slipped out of your pussy, landing against his stomach with a wet twap! Cum oozed out, pooling on his thigh as you got down from him.
You reached for your phone –forgotten on the nightstand– and quickly entered the camera app, your fingers gathered his cum as you hit record, the flash making him squint as he opened his mouth obediently, tongue lolling out like a slut.
“Such a good boy, ‘toru…” Your cum-stained fingers settled on his tongue as his mouth closed around them, swallowing his own cum, all while staring back at the camera. He looked divine, glasses askew and eyes glossy behind the big frames. You had made it a habit to record him while you two were having sex, and he’d sometimes send you audios and videos while he jacked off; he knew how much you loved the sound of his whimpers.
“What a whore.” You ended the video with a satisfied smile, sighing contentedly as you got up from his bed.
You gathered your clothes, not bothering with after-care as you slipped into your skimpy skirt. “Thanks for the assignment, Satoru.”
He propped on his arms, staring at you with his mouth agape. “Y-you're welcome.”
After making sure you looked good in your hand mirror, you walked up to him again, leaning down to pick something from the floor before throwing it at him. Your panties. “Here, for being good today.”
He grasped the flimsy fabric in his hands like it was something precious. “T-thanks.” He was good…
With that, you picked up your heels and left his room.
Fuck, he was screwed, literally.
He knew he shouldn’t get so attached. You were clear about the relationship from the beginning; no feelings, not even interactions behind closed doors.
He was getting obsessed. A pretty woman like you was willing to have sex with him! That was all he needed, really. But then there was also your smile, and your eyes, how you walked in those heels, and how the world seemed to be at your feet.
If Paramount Pictures were making another Mean Girls reboot, you’d totally be Regina. Queen bee of the campus, everyone followed you around like lost puppies, and, of course, he wasn’t the exception.
He knows he shouldn’t be here. A frat party? What was he even thinking? He wasn’t even invited! But since summer vacation had rolled in, he hadn’t seen you in a long time, and he was getting desperate.
He knew you were here; he had seen your Instagram story.
His heart was in his ass, the loud music from the party, and all the bodies around him as he tried to walk were making him nervous. Then he spotted you. Surrounded as always by your followers, laughing and giggling at something you had said. He moved on autopilot, his legs dragged him towards you without even thinking about it.
Your friends spotted him first, scrunching their noses and making disgusted faces as if he had the plague. “What the fuck is he doing here?” One of them —a bleached blonde one— said loudly.
He stilled, hands fidgeting as he looked at you. “I–I uh–” What was he doing?! Why was he here?! His mind was blank, no thoughts in there whatsoever.
Another girl turned to you with the same tone of disgust. “Do you know this loser?”
Your eyes widened, settled on him. What the fuck? You cleared your throat, shaking your head before looking him up and down. “No? Why the fuck would I know him?”
His heart shattered at your tone.
“Then why the fuck is he here?” The blonde repeated.
“I uh–I just wanted t-to—” He stammered, feeling every pair of eyes in the house on him.
“To what?” The other girl cut him off. “You think you can just come here uninvited and try to talk to her?”
His mouth opened, but no words were coming out. His eyes were settled on you, all sad and pitiful. Fuck, you felt so bad.
The blonde girl laughed at him before muttering. “Maybe he thought he had a chance.”
The rest of the girls laughed along. “Please! This virgin thinks he has a chance with her?”
“Hey, I’m not a virgin…” Oh, so now he does talk. Good job, mouth.
The laughter grew louder, and even you joined in. It was a small chuckle; but your eyes said the opposite because you knew this was hurting him, you just couldn’t stop. Then you made it worse. “Who would have sex with you?” You said with such repulsion that his eyes watered.
“Look, he’s going to cry!” The blonde girl pointed out.
Fucking crybaby.
His feet moved fast, bolting out of there as the laughter filled his ears.
You sat there, watching him leave, as your friends kept making fun of him, fuck, why did he have to come? Men ruin everything!
You waited a few days before calling him. Sure, you were mean, but you weren’t that mean. You wanted to apologize.
He was lying down on his bed, hugging a Miku plushie. His mind was replaying the scene over and over again: the laughter, your words, your tone, the humiliation. His ringtone pulled him out of the spiral, the phone vibrating on the nightstand as he reached for it. He deflated after seeing your name shining on the screen like a joke.
He picked up anyway; maybe he was a masochist.
“Satoru.” Your voice was soft, fake, he knew it.
“What do you want?” He mumbled, and you sighed at how sad he sounded.
“I want to talk… properly. Can you come to my dorm?”
He sat up at your words.
“I–I uh, y-yeah, okay.” He stammered, hanging up quickly, and rushing to get his shoes on. He practically bolted out of his dorm, running through the halls, getting strange looks from other students.
He was breathing heavily by the time he reached your dorm, trying to gather himself before he knocked on the door. A moment passed before it opened, and you peeked out, glancing to the sides before dragging him in.
You closed the door behind him.
Satoru looked at you, eyes still sad; he looked like he’d been crying, of course, he has.
“I told you not to approach me in public.” That was all you said, not an apology. You were blaming him.
He stood still, but his gaze shifted to something strange. Was he angry?
“What?” You asked, thanks to his lack of response, your arms crossed as you stared at him.
He blinked twice before speaking. “Y-you’re not going to apologize?”
“Apologize for what?”
His mouth fell open, baffled as he looked at you. “‘F-for what?!’ You humiliated me!” He finally muttered, raising his tone a little too much for your liking.
You rolled your eyes at his words.
You were going to apologize… eventually, but not now with that attitude.
“You humiliated yourself.” Your words cut sharply. “Who told you to go to that party and talk to me? Huh?” You walked closer to him, making him step back nervously, and a finger nudged his chest, marking your point. “The only rule about this agreement was to not address me in public.”
He fell onto your bed with a huff, looking up at you as he felt tears brimming in his eyes again.
“Either way, you probably loved to be humiliated in front of all those girls.” You said with a sarcastic chuckle.
“You’re such a bitch.” He muttered, looking up at you as his chest huffed with anger.
The slap came quickly, a manicured hand landing on his teary cheek sharply. His head snapped to the side as his eyes widened. He didn’t have the chance to say anything before you spoke again.
“What did you just call me?!”
He looked up at you once more, glossy eyes settled on your angry face, you looked so pretty…
“I—I’m s-s—“
“Say it again.” You cut him off. And his mouth fell agape. “Call me a bitch again, Satoru.”
He felt feverish, heart pumping rapidly against his ribcage; he couldn’t speak properly.
At the lack of response, you slapped him again, and the sound that followed mildly surprised you.
“Mhm!”
It even surprised him.
You wanted to scoff, but once your gaze settled on his crotch and you noticed his hard cock straining against his sweatpants, a mean smirk settled on your face.
“You’re such a freak.” You mumbled, your finger flicking his tip, making him cry out your name.
He shouldn’t have liked this; it was sick. But, oh, he did, he totally did.
“I’m sorry, sorry, I’m sorry.” He hiccuped, tears falling down his cheeks.
“You’re sorry?” You mocked him. “For what? Calling me a bitch? Or going up to me like we are friends?”
“W-we are friends—“ He mumbled, watching as you pulled his sweats, his hard cock bouncing against his tummy.
“We are not friends.” You interrupted him, and he pouted, lolling his head back. You were so mean!
“…I could tell everyone.” He muttered after a moment. Oh, he was threatening you? How cute.
“Is that a threat?” You asked with a huff, reaching for your phone. “Fine, tell everyone.”
His eyes opened at your words before widening once he heard the sound of moans and whimpers leaving the speaker of your phone. His moans and whimpers.
Fuck.
“Just remember, I have these sweet little videos and audios of you.”
Satoru cried, cock twitching at your condescending tone.
“D-don’t—“
“Hm?” You fisted his hair, making him cry out. “Don’t what? I thought you wanted to tell everyone.”
He shook his head, feeling the sting of your grip on his scalp.
You scoffed, stepping back and walking to your closet. “You know, I really thought you were a good boy, Satoru.”
He followed you with his glossy eyes.
“Turns out you’re a huge brat.” Your words made him feel small.
He wasn’t a brat. He had the right to be angry… didn’t he?
You reached for something in your closet before walking back. His eyes travelled to your hands, widening once he saw that you were holding a strap.
“W-wha—“
“‘W-what?” You mocked him, earning another twitch from his cock, he was such a whore.
“Lie down.”
He did, of course, he did. Your fingers curled on the hem of his sweatpants, pulling them further down and taking them off along with his boxers.
You walked to your nightstand, taking the bottle of lube from the cabinet before walking back to him.
Satoru was looking up at you with wide eyes, cheeks flushed a deep red as his mouth fell agape. He looked pretty.
You opened the bottle, squirting some on your fingers, placing one knee on the edge of the bed to prop yourself up, using the other to open his legs.
“W-wait—“ He tried to hold your hand, but you snatched it, making him cry out. “Please…”
“Please, what? Satoru.” Your voice was mean. “Do you really think you can get away with embarrassing me in front of my friends and then call me a bitch?”
He shook his head, feeling more tears slip past his cheeks. “N-no…”
“If anything…” You continued, your fingers moving down to his hole, your index nudging in, making him gasp. “You are the real bitch.”
He hissed loudly at the intrusion, mouth falling open as he cried your name out.
“Say it, Satoru.”
He opened —tried to open his eyes. “W-wha—“
“Say you’re my bitch.”
He whined at your command, shaking his head all bratty. He was so embarrassed, but the sheer humiliation was making him twitch.
“No?” You asked sarcastically, adding another finger, earning a loud whimper. “You think you’re not?”
Your fingers opened and closed inside him, stretching his tight rim just enough before taking them out.
Reaching for the strap, you secured it around your waist. The plastic cock was thick; it wasn’t too long, but it was still intimidating.
“P-please—please.” Your name kept slipping past his mouth in soft cries, hiccups, and whimpers.
“You really need to learn how to shut up.” You fisted his hair again, propping him up and closer to you, now face to face with the plastic cock. “Open.”
He cried at the command, eyes closing as you tugged on his hair, scalp burning. But, he did.
He opened his mouth slowly, tongue lolling out as the tip of the cock settled on it. You didn’t waste any time, slipping in as he gagged.
“You have a horrible gag reflex, Satoru.” You said mockingly, making him whine something around your cock.
Your hips snapped against his mouth, letting him taste the plastic as it reached the back of his throat meanly.
His hands were shaking, moving up to grasp your hips as he choked and gagged, saliva running down his chin to his neck. He felt gross, but as he looked up at you with glossy eyes, he met your gaze. You had this crazed look, and for some reason, he loved it.
Your fist on his hair snatched him back, pulling your cock out of his mouth. It was now coated in his saliva, all slick and shiny just for him.
“Say it.” You commanded again, now, Satoru could be good and just say it, but no, he wanted to be a brat.
“No.”
A smirk settled on your pretty face. “Hm. Fine, have it your way, ‘toru.”
He felt a shiver run down his spine at your dark tone. He was fucked.
You lined the strap against his hole, now all lubed thanks to his mouth, it slipped in. “F-fuhhhh—fuck!”
Satoru cried out loudly, head falling back into your bed as he covered his teary face with his forearm.
“You’re such a brat, Satoru.” You cooed. “All high and mighty as if you aren’t moaning for me always.”
He shook his head pathetically, crying as your hips began to move.
“No?” You asked that fake sweet tone while reaching for your phone, playing one of the many audios he has sent you. “What’s this then?”
His eyes widened once he heard his moans again, red reaching his ears as he had to hear himself while getting fucked.
You left your phone next to him, close to his ear, so he could hear his moans and whimpers. Your hands settled on his waist, grasping his skin as your hips pushed in deeper. Soon, you picked up the pace.
Satoru was on cloud nine, moan after pitiful moan fell past his lips as he felt your cock stretch him up, the tip nudging against his g-spot over and over again, it was driving him crazy.
“Nghnnn! Please… please, d-don’t—don’t stop.”
God, he looked divine; cheeks red and stained with dried tears, glossy lips agape as he moaned your name, white hair tousled from your previous grip, eyebrows scrunched in pleasure.
Your hand lifted his Star Wars shirt, revealing his sweaty chest and tummy. Two fingers settled on one of his rosy nipples, earning a particularly loud moan as you played with it, hips relenting as you kept the torturous pace.
“Fuck! Fuck, please…” Satoru whimpered, eyes opening to look at you. “Please—please, ‘m sorry, I’m sorry, please.”
You hummed at his words, the hand on his nipple traveling down to his tummy, and applying pressure. “Ah! Fuhhh–fuck!” He cried out, tears falling once more.
“Say it, Satoru. I know you want to cum.”
“Please…” He hiccuped, body curling into your touch, with your hand on his tummy pressuring down, and the sound of his own moans filling his ears, he could feel everything ten times more.
“Say it.” You repeated.
And he finally gave in.
“I’m your bitch. I’m your bitch, I’m your—”
A hand wrapped around his leaky cock, stroking him fast, not letting him finish the sentence as he gasped loudly. His toes curled as he came hard; ropes and ropes of thick, warm cum shot out of his tip, some even landed on his face, mouth opening automatically like the slut he was.
“Nghnnn—fuckkk, thank you, thank you, thank you…”
Your hips stilled after a moment, chest heaving up and down as you stared at him, all messy and absolutely wrecked.
Satoru looked up at you, glasses fogged and askew as he cried. “I’m sorry.”
You leaned down, a hand coming up to hold his face gently. “I forgive you, Satoru.”
Notes: I saw, I conquered, I came. We all love bratty Gojo around here. Thanks for requesting this! I had fun writing it. Also, today is my last day of the semester, THANK GOD. Keep the requests coming!
nerdjo’s a fool for his pretty, high maintenance girlfriend.
I. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #107 : “BUT TORU, I DON’T GET IT..”
11:57 am location: SC/MATH 3020 (Vari Hall, Room B)
you’re supposed to be solving laplace equations. instead, you’re sending satoru doodles of you pregnant with his child.
satoru gojo is jacques marie mage glasses & messy blanche hair & forearms thicker than his head. he should be studying—god, he should be, but his pretty girl is texting him mid-lecture & satoru’s something of a fool for you so he foolishly decides, who is he not to reply ?
and his replies are earnest. always earnest. too punctuated, too grammatically correct.
toruu : You’re the cutest girl in the world.
toruu : Pay attention, okay?
his first message makes your heart swelter & bloom. the second makes it drop to your ass.
but satoru gojo is honey mouthed & heart-achingly sweet. and when your boyfriend asks you to focus so sweetly, how could you not obey?
so you open your notebook & close it right back.
you : toru i tried :( i don’t get ittttrt
toruu : Send me the question.
and you do. along with a selfie of your cute pout, of course. satoru’s reply comes in in an instant:
toruu : Gorgeous girl.
toruu : Okay, try isolating the variable first.
you do as he says. satoru’s instructions always come easy-sweet. sugar coated & simplified like he’s talking to the softest girl in the world. & perhaps he is.
toruu : Good. Now distribute.
toruu : Yes. That’s it. Keep going.
toruu : That’s perfect, baby. My smart girl.
your cheeks grow mushy & sticky & heart-wrenchingly soft.
satoru gojo is going to be the death of you.
II. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #126 : LOVER BOYS DON’T IGNORE THEIR GIRLFRIENDS !
time : 1:48 pm. location: york lanes ( indoor mall )
“satoru hasn’t texted me in fifteen minutes.”
“they faces killing me why nobody give a fuck.”
you ignore shoko & her bitter response. you’d rather die than argue with a bitch & her bad bob. you lean to rest your head on suguru’s shoulder, who’s much more empathetic & strokes your hair lovingly.
“isn’t he tutoring right now?”
and he is. somewhere across campus, in a cramped corner of the scott library, gojo satoru is bleary-eyed & suffering.
he’s supposed to be explaining calculus to confused first year yuuji itadori. but his phone, face-up & gleam-screened on the mahogany table, hums and vibrates with desperation.
1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗
satoru’s jaw is tight. there’s crescent shaped crevices in his palms & his knuckles rouse rash red. his focus flickers. he catches a glimpse of your latest message: the preview of a selfie, that low adorable angle where you’re peering at your phone from under your lashes & your lips jut out in a ‘where are youuu’ pout.
fuck.
“uhh, gojo?” yuuji’s biting his pencil again before he points it at the vibrating device. “aren’t you gonna answer that..? i dunno, it looks important.”
it is important. it’s you. but if satoru answers now, poor yuuji’s paid tutoring session would immediately be over.
“it’s fine, yuuji. let’s focus on finding the derivative.”
and it is fine. because gojo satoru is a man of logic. a man of discipline. a man of pa—
princess 🧸💗: i always knew you’d get tired of me one day
princess 🧸💗: it’s okay. thank you for everything toru 👍
gojo satoru grabs the phone faster than you can say go pandas! his thumbs fly over the screen, ever precise, ever trembling.
toruu: Baby, please don’t say that.
toruu: I’m almost done. I’ll be with you in ten minutes. I’ll buy you that Drake meal you wanted.
toruu: I love you. Please wait for me?
back at the mall you’re reading his text. and god, your heart bubbles up like soda pop. “he’s coming,” you murmur into suguru’s shoulder, scrolling past his text without a reply.
“great!” shoko cheers with fake enthusiasm, taking a puff of her vape (suguru’s complaining that the pineapple & kiwi she blows make his poutine taste sour-ish, & she shouldn’t be vaping anyway, but guess what? shoko doesn’t care!)
“now can we stop acting like it’s the summer hikaru died?”
“no.”
instagram’s algorithm is always on your side. you’ve opened the reels tab to find a video of a rainy window, a quote captioned over it: ‘if he wanted to, he would. silence is a choice.’ simple. short. effective.
you add it to your story. suguru catches a glimpse of your screen & chuckles.
“y/n,” he sings your name, tutting. “you’re gonna give the boy a heart attack before he even hits the common area.”
“he deserves it.”
satoru gojo has already viewed your story. he shows up within the next five minutes.
III. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #167: BABY, I’M BORED.
time : 3:58 pm. location: science & engineering building
there’s solution bubbling pink in a flask. in lab four, the air’s sticky with the sweat of too many boys with glasses & a half-drunk energy drink rotting in the corner.
gojo satoru is huddled over a circuit board with two other boys who look like they haven’t seen sunlight in days.
nerd #1 points at the monitor : “if we adjust the frequency here,” he’s muttering, “the entire wave function collapses. it’s an impossible solve, gojo.”
“it’s not impossible. you’re just missing the constant.”
gojo satoru is the god of lab four; formulas on his fingers & equations on his tongue. he’s leaning over now, fingers on the screen when the heavy steel door swings open,
“hi, toru!”
you’re all soft perfume & clicky heels & smile as sweet as sugar. satoru’s head snaps up instantly—his glasses slip down his nose, & he flicks them back upward, eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light.
“hi sweetheart,” he breathes, “you’re here early.”
the other nerds are staring now, and for good reason. how did gojo satoru—who’s paperbacks & friday nights spent bent over research papers—pull a pretty thing like you ?
“are you doing science ?” you’re already across the room, arms around his neck as his palms press you flush against him from the side. your perfume’s sticky in his lungs. “why’s that line so squiggly? you guys should make it straight. it’d be much prettier.”
nerd #4 winces. “actually, that’s a representation of—“
“you’re right, baby. it would look prettier. have a seat, okay?”
you hum an okay! & plop yourself down on his lap. nerd number 3 & 2 exchange glances. nerd #1 asks, god, me when ?
the group discussion starts up again. satoru is half-science half-yours—his thumb traces circles on your thigh as your feet kick in his lap, & you’re asking one too many questions while satoru tries—tries to pay attention.
“toru, what does this button do?”
“that’s the power supply, baby. please don’t touch it.”
“but it’s glowing. can you make it glow pink ? i think it should glow pink.”
“noted. you’re squirming, princess.”
and you are. nerd #4 wonders how you’re still balanced. the discussion continues but you’re a constant background noise of ‘toru, look at this tiktok’, and ‘baby, i think the lighting’s washing me out.’ you try to touch a wire. gojo catches your hand mid-air & cups it with a kiss.
you flop against his chest. “satoru, i’m bored.”
& satoru is tired. exhausted, really. he’s fighting the rash creeping up his neck as nerds one to four watch you pout in his lap like a spoiled child. “i want matcha. can we go get some?”
you can’t. because this is a project due in twelve hours. because satoru has only so much time to lock in—
“alright, let’s go.”
nerd #3 is distraught: “huh—?! gojo, you can’t leave now, we’re in the middle of a breakthrough!”
satoru doesn’t even look around. he’s smoothing your skirt after you hop off his lap, your bag already slung over his shoulder. he’s leading you out by the hand; “sorry guys. i’ll send my solution to the group chat. brief me on the updates later?”
the door swings shut. nerds one to four are in awe.
your nerdy fuckbuddy gojo has a tongue piercing?!?
“gojo—“ you said. “pause. stop.” you added, pulling his head up, away from your pussy. normally, you’d never stop him. ever. he pushed his slightly fogged up glasses up the bridge of his nose, and then spoke, his tone quiet and worried. “wh—what’s wrong? did— does it not feel good? a—am i going too fa—“ you shook your head quickly, and then sat up on your forearms.
“no, no, of course not— it’s .. i dunno. something feels.. weird. sort of.. cold.” you spoke, feeling sort of uncertain and deluded. you had never felt this feeling when he ate you out. you grabbed his chin lightly, and then thumbed at his lips. “do you have ice in your mouth or something?” you asked.
“uh—no..? but.. i.. can if you’d like that?” he said, looking up at you with a worried expression on his face. as he spoke, though, you noticed something shining in his mouth. “open your mouth.” you ordered. and he did so. quicker than you’d expected. he stuck his tongue out, and you gasped. “when did you get that?” you said, staring at the metal ball on his tongue.
“um.. a few days ago. i lost a bet with my brother.” he said, scratching his head and looking away, almost like he was embarrassed. “your brother.. the one in the fraternity?” you asked. “that’s the one.” he confirmed. wasn’t too far off from him. you’ve met him before— saturo. the sleazy, disgustingly sexy yet dangerous frat boy. you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want him.
“hm.” you said quietly. “do you like it?” he whispered, going back down so his nose was level with your cunt. “does it make you feel good?” he said, his breath fanning over the sensitive flesh. he gave you a long, slow lick, from your hole to your clit, not breaking eye contact. “when i got it done,” he said quietly, giving your clit a sweet kiss, and snaking his arms around your thighs to hold you down, so you wouldn’t twitch so much. “i couldn’t stop thinking of you. i was so excited to use it on you..” he murmured against you.
he reached up his hand, dragging his middle finger and ring fingers from your clit, down to circle around your hole, and then finally, inserting them in. he leaned up to you, giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek, then another against your ear as he fingered you. “satoru—“ you moaned, watching as his fingers disappeared in and out of you. you bit your lip, and then he leaned down to capture your lips, wasting no time to use his tongue.
his tongue circled yours, and you moaned at the taste of yourself, and the feeling of his metal on your tongue. “i lost the bet on purpose.” he whispered against your lips. “i overheard you talking about guys with tongue piercings, and..” he said softly, giving your lips a chaste peck, his thumb moving up to work your clit as he fingered you. “i got jealous. jealous that you potentially didn’t have me in mind.” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “i wanted nothing more than for you to experience this. nothing more than for you to use me for as long as you want to.” he said, his tone almost whiny as he pleaded.
SYNOPSIS — (req) you help mark relax after a fight
CONTENT — 18+ minors dni | established relationship, whiny!mark, pet names (baby), calls reader beautiful a couple of times, grinding, oral (m! receiving), cum swallowing, fingering (f! receiving), nipple play, size kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), multiple orgasms, missionary position, creampie. let me know if i’ve missed anything!
WC — 5.2k
NOTE — who would've thought that having two red bulls at one in the morning makes you horny...
MASTERLIST
You were sprawled across your bed, one knee bent, thumb flicking lazily through your phone as the soft glow of the screen painted your room in dim blue light. Everything was quiet, the kind of peaceful quiet that made the world feel far away for a little while.
Then came a sharp bump against your window. Your head snapped up and for a second, all you could see was the dark outline of the glass, and then movement—a figure shifting awkwardly outside, one hand pressed to the window frame, the other rubbing at his head.
Your eyes widened. “Mark?”
On the other side of the window, he gave you a small, sheepish wave. Even in the low light, you could tell immediately that he was roughed up. There were cuts along his cheek, bruising darkening one side of his jaw, and his suit was torn in more than one place, fabric stretched and scraped. Nothing looked horrible, but enough to make your stomach drop anyway.
You were off the bed in an instant, crossing the room so fast your phone nearly slipped from your hand. “Hold on.”
Your fingers fumbled with the lock for half a second before the window finally gave way. Cold air rushed in, brushing against your bare legs, and only then did it really hit you—you weren’t dressed for company.
Just one of his oversized t-shirts, the fabric hanging loose and soft around you, sleeves slipping past your elbows. It was comfortable, familiar—something you hadn’t thought twice about until now.
Mark ducked inside, landing a little clumsily before straightening up—then freezing. For a split second, his brain completely short-circuited. His eyes flicked up, then very quickly away, like he didn’t know where he was supposed to look. The tips of his ears went red almost instantly, and he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very aware of everything at once—your room, how close he was, and the fact that you were wearing his shirt.
“Oh—uh—hey,” he said, which was probably the least helpful thing he could have come up with.
You blinked at him. “Hi? You just crashed into my window.”
“Right. Yeah. That—” He gestured vaguely behind him, like that explained anything, before risking another glance at you—and immediately regretting it. “Sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t think—”
“That I’d be wearing clothes?” you shot back, half incredulous, half amused despite the situation.
“No! I mean—yes! No, that’s not—” He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “That came out wrong.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, shaking your head as you stepped aside to let him properly in. “You’re unbelievable.”
He exhaled, still a little flustered, but the moment didn’t last long. “Since when did you lock your window?” he asked, like that was the biggest issue right now.
You stared at him. “Since—since always?! Mark, what happened to you?”
He glanced down at himself like he’s only just noticing. “Oh. Uh… it’s nothing. Just a… rough day.”
“‘Nothing’ does not look like that,” you said sharply, folding your arms across your chest. “You’re hurt.”
He opened his mouth, probably to argue, but you were already stepping closer, scanning him with obvious worry. His face was a mess of little scrapes, and there was a smear of dirt across his suit that made it look like he’d been thrown through half the city and back again. He looked more embarrassed than anything, which almost made it worse.
You reached out before you could think better of it, catching his arm gently and checking him over with careful hands. “What happened?”
“Long night,” he said, trying for casual and landing somewhere near pathetic.
You narrowed your eyes. “That is not an answer.”
His shoulders lifted in the smallest shrug. “Got thrown into a building. Twice.”
Your expression sharpened. “Mark.”
“I said I’m okay.”
“You do not get to say ‘I’m okay’ while looking like that.”
That finally pulled a soft laugh from him, brief and breathy, the kind that made it obvious he knew he’d lost this argument before it even started. He braced one hand against your dresser for balance, looking at you with that familiar guilty little tilt to his smile that somehow made it harder to stay annoyed at him.
“Okay,” he admitted. “Fair.”
You shook your head, already turning toward your desk, tugging open the drawer and grabbing your first-aid kit. “Sit down before you fall over.”
He let out a quiet sigh, but he did as he was told, lowering himself onto the edge of your bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he rested his forearms on his knees for a second, like even sitting took more effort than usual.
You knelt in front of him, setting the kit beside you and finally getting a proper look. From this close, there was no ignoring it anymore—the small cuts scattered across his face, the bruises already beginning to darken beneath his skin, the faint smear of dried blood near his eyebrow. It made something in your chest tighten in a way you didn’t like.
Mark noticed the way you were looking at him, and one of his brows lifted in that familiar, teasing way.
“Keep it in your pants, tough guy,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you reached for antiseptic.
You grabbed a cotton pad, dabbing it carefully with antiseptic before leaning closer. “This is gonna sting.”
“I’ve had worse,” he said lightly.
“Yeah?” you murmured, tilting your head slightly. “Try not flinching, then.”
You pressed the pad gently against the cut and he flinched. You stopped, pulling back just enough to look at him, one brow raising in silent judgment.
“…Okay, that one stung,” he admitted, a little sheepish now.
A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips, but it faded quickly as your fingers brushed against the torn edge of his suit. The fabric was rough under your touch, split enough to reveal unmarked skin beneath—thankfully.
“You need to take this off,” you said, quieter now, more serious as you tugged lightly at the damaged material.
For a second, he didn’t say anything. His gaze dropped to where your hand rested against his suit, then flicked back up to your face, something uncertain passing through his expression.
“I mean—yeah, I was going to, just—” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at something sore. “You don’t have to—like—I can—”
You huffed a quiet breath, shaking your head as you reached up, fingers finding the edge of the tear near his shoulder. “Just—hold still.”
There was a brief hesitation before he nodded, shoulders relaxing—just a little—as he let his arms drop to his sides. Carefully, you peeled the torn fabric back, trying not to make it worse. The material resisted slightly before giving way, exposing more of his shoulder and upper chest.
You reached for the antiseptic again and dabbed carefully at the scrape near his cheek, your hand steady even if your heart wasn’t quite as calm as you wanted it to be. He watched you from beneath his lashes, quieter now, and for a second neither of you said anything at all.
Then, very softly, he asked, “Are you mad?”
You glanced up at him. “What?”
The question caught you off guard. You slowed your hands, looking at him properly now instead of just the cuts and bruises.
“Mark,” you said, a little gentler than before, “I’m not mad.”
He studied your face like he was checking for a lie.
You sighed and set the cotton pad down for a moment. “I’m worried. There’s a difference.”
Something in his expression eased at that, just slightly, like he had been braced for something harsher and didn’t quite know what to do with being met with concern instead.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
You picked the pad back up. “Although I may be a little mad that you keep pretending you’re fine when you look like this.”
He gave a tiny, tired smile. “That’s fair.”
And this time, when you dabbed at the next cut, he only winced a little. Mark was quiet for a moment after that, his jaw tightening in a way you recognised immediately. It was the same look he got whenever he was trying to swallow down something he did not want to say out loud. You were still holding the cotton pad in one hand, but he had gone tense beneath your touch, his shoulders pulled tight and his gaze fixed stubbornly somewhere past your shoulder.
Then he exhaled sharply through his nose and muttered, “This fight was so stupid.”
You frowned, lowering the cotton pad. “Mark—”
“No, seriously.” His voice came out rougher now, edged with frustration that hadn’t been there a second ago. He dragged a hand back over his face, careful of the cuts, then dropped it into his lap with a sound of pure irritation. “It was completely preventable. I should have seen it coming. I should have handled it differently. I shouldn’t even have been there that long, and now I show up here looking like this because I messed up.”
His words came faster as he spoke, like once he’d started, he couldn’t quite stop. He looked angry, but not really at you or even at the situation. Mostly, he looked angry at himself.
“I mean, what was I even doing?” he went on, shaking his head once. “I had it. I just— I could’ve stopped it sooner. I could’ve avoided half of that if I’d just been paying more attention.”
You set the antiseptic down before his spiraling got any worse, your chest tightening a little at the sound of his voice. It was that awful kind of frustration he got when he was trying to hold himself responsible for everything, even things no one person could have perfectly controlled.
“Mark,” you said softly.
He gave a short, humorless laugh and looked away. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Your expression softened, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore.
“Don’t do the whole ‘it’s okay, you did your best’ thing.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, then winced and immediately regretted it. “Because it doesn’t matter. It still happened.”
You stared at him for a second, then set everything aside carefully. “Hey.”
He looked up, though he still looked annoyed with himself, like he was expecting you to argue and was already bracing for it. Instead, you reached out and cupped his face in both hands.
Mark froze in an instant. It was almost ridiculous the way all the tension in him seemed to stutter to a halt. His eyes widened slightly, his mouth parting as he stared at you, and for once he looked completely caught off guard.
“Hey,” you repeated, quieter but more insistent. You kept your hands gentle, thumbs brushing lightly over his cheekbones. “You need to stop doing that.”
He blinked, caught off guard, his words cutting off mid-thought. “I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can,” you said. “You’re spiralling.”
His brows pulled together. “I’m not—"
“You are,” you said gently. “And you’re being way harder on yourself than you deserve.”
He shook his head slightly, but your hands kept him there, grounded.
“You didn’t see it,” he argued, softer now but still tense. “You don’t know how easy it would’ve been to just—fix it.”
“Maybe,” you said. “But I do know you.” That made him hesitate. “And I know you don’t let things go wrong on purpose,” you continued, your voice steady. “You try. Probably too much.”
His brows pulled together faintly, but before he could answer, you shifted closer and settled yourself on his lap, moving slowly so you wouldn’t jostle any of the bruises. He made a startled little sound at that, hands lifting halfway as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, before he finally let them rest hesitantly at your sides.
He swallowed, his throat bobbing once. The irritation in his expression faded by degrees, leaving behind something a lot more vulnerable and a lot less guarded. “I just hate this,” he admitted before letting out a long breath and shutting his eyes for a moment. “I really thought I could’ve prevented it.”
You brushed your thumbs along his cheeks again, gentle and steady. “Maybe you could have. Maybe not. But beating yourself up about it is not helping.”
When he opened his eyes again, he looked a little more like himself, even if he was still tired, bruised and frustrated. “You’re annoyingly good at this,” he said.
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth. “At what?”
“Making me shut up.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Only because you need to.”
His mouth twitched, the smallest hint of a smile appearing despite himself. And then, after a second, he leaned into your hands just enough that you could feel the weight of him easing down, little by little.
You softened, your voice dropping just a little. “Hey… you need to relax, okay?”
A weak exhale left him, his shoulders finally loosening beneath your hands. The tension that had been holding him together all night began to slip away, bit by bit, until he was actually leaning into your touch instead of holding himself rigid against it.
He trusts you, but the vulnerability of being in this position, shirtless in your bedroom, is making his heart beat a little too fast. He’s acutely aware of how close you are now, your touch gentle yet firm, and he’s having a hard time deciding if it's comforting or just making things more difficult.
Eventually he leans back onto the bed, propped up against your pillows, as you work along his body. His eyes stay glued to your face, watching the concentration in your expression, the way your lips press into a thin line when you come across a particularly painful looking spot.
“You’re good at this,” he finally murmured, his voice quiet and a little hoarse.
“And you’ve relaxed a little too much,” you teased, glancing down at his crotch.
“I—that’s not… I—” he stuttered, cheeks heating up with embarrassment.
Mark followed your gaze and immediately realised what you meant. His relaxed demeanor from seconds ago is gone, replaced by a flustered panic. He tries futilely to adjust his position, but with you on top of him, it only makes the whole situation more obvious.
“It’s, uh, that’s not—it’s just a physical reaction, okay?” he added desperately. “It’s just the adrenaline, or something.”
“Uh huh, sure it is, tough guy,” you hummed, patting his chest.
Mark groaned, throwing an arm over his face to hide the fact that he was not handling this well.
“Baby,” he pleaded, his voice strained. “Don’t…”
“Or what?” you raised a brow, slowly grinding down against him.
Mark sucked in a sharp breath, arching against you involuntarily. He lets it out slowly through his nose, trying in vain to control the way his heart rate was rapidly increasing, or how his suit now felt uncomfortably tight.
He lifted his arm from his face and looked up at you. He opened his mouth, trying to formulate some smartass retort, but only a strangled sound came out. Mark’s mind was spinning; his exhaustion was fighting with a growing, undeniable desire that was suddenly more overwhelming than anything he’d ever felt before.
“This is so unfair,” he huffed half-heartedly, half-lidded eyes darting down to your lips.
Your head tilted to the side as you leant down, your lips brushing against his briefly before pulling back. Your lips were soft and warm against his, and Mark found himself chasing after you, his body on auto-pilot.
Then you rock your hips again, and Mark felt a low moan rising up from his chest. He let out an unsteady exhale, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he tried and failed to get himself under control.
He was having a hard time forming any coherent thoughts, his mind clouded with desire. He knew you were playing with him, teasing him, and it was driving him mad. His hands moved of their own accord, gripping your hips tightly, either to pull you closer or push you away—he wasn’t sure.
You leaned down once more, trailing your lips down from his mouth and to his jaw. Mark tilted his head back further, exposing more of his neck to you—his thumbs brushing under the hem of your shirt, tracing light circles against your hip.
Mark was helpless against the way you made him feel, his body responding eagerly to your ministrations. As your lips moved to his neck, he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine, his fingers twitching against your skin.
Slowly, you slid off him and knelt on the floor. His breathing quickened, and he subconsciously spread his legs wider to accommodate you. Sitting up onto his elbows, his chest heaved with each laboured breath, the rise and fall of it quick and sharp.
You smiled softly, gliding your hands up his thighs before peeling the rest of his suit off. His body was bare before you now, save for his boxers which were doing very little to hide how affected he was.
Unable to help yourself, you trailed a hand down his abdomen, your fingertips brushing along the faint trial of hair beneath his navel until they met the solid outline of his cock. You palmed him softly through the fabric, feeling him twitch in need under your touch.
“Please,” he whispered. The plea was so quiet, so shaky it was barely there. “Baby… please…”
Mark’s breath stuttered as you freed him, his cock throbbing against his stomach. His dick was heavy in your hand, flushed and leaking, as precum slid down the underside of his cock and over your thumb in needy dribbles.
He didn’t look like the same person who was covered in bruises just moments ago—he looked almost undone, reduced to a trembling mess of need. You started slow, his tip slick as you gave him one lazy pump.
Mark’s entire body lurched at your touch, a choked-off moan escaped him as his hips jerked upward into your hand. His fingers dug into the mattress hard enough to tear the fabric, knuckles white with tension.
As your hand worked at his base, you pressed a kiss to his tip. Then another. Before your tongue circled his tip, licking at his sensitive slit. The salty taste of him filled your senses as you swirled your tongue.
You leaned forward, and Mark watched as the head disappeared past your lips. You took more of him, then a little bit more, until you felt him hit the back of your throat. You hollowed your cheeks to apply a gentle suction as you began to bob your head.
“Oh, yes—” Mark whined.
Mark was losing it. His breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving as he fought to maintain control. The feeling of your lips stretched around him, hot and wet, drove him closer to the edge.
Saliva slid down your chin, your throat fluttering and eyes stinging every time Mark brushed the back of your throat. A desperate whine escaped him as your nails scratched the line of hair that led below his navel.
A raw cry ripped from his throat, his hands flying down to drip your hair and pull you closer. His body shook with the effort to not just fuck up into your mouth. At some point, you glanced up, and the eye contact made you embarrassingly wet. Mark looked ruined, entirely mesmerised by you.
Mark’s pupils were nearly dilated beyond the rim. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes from how overwhelming it felt. He struggled for breath, a flush creeping up his chest as he held himself back. His hips stuttered upward uncontrollably, his eyes wide and wild with disbelief.
“Don’t stop,” he begged in a whisper so broken it sounded more like a prayer than a plea.
He looked like he was on the edge of some kind of cosmic revelation, his face flushed and damp with sweat. This was the closest Mark had ever been to feeling an out-of-body experience.
His hips jerked upward in tiny aborted thrusts—helpless little movements as if his body was already moving on instinct. It was only a few more seconds before Mark let out a guttural cry, feeling it tear from his throat, before he emptied his load into your mouth. Pulse after pulse of heavy release filled your mouth, and you took it all, letting the salty taste land on your tongue.
Swallowing the last of his release, you pulled back and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. You got to your feet once again and settled onto his lap. His entire body tensed beneath you, trembling as pleasure still coursed through him.
Mark sat up weakly, his hands moving up to grip your waist automatically. He rested his head on your shoulder, groaning weakly into the crook of your neck. He could feel himself starting to grow hard all over again despite how wrecked he already felt.
“Jesus, Mark… seriously?” you panted, your lips slick and swollen.
Mark laughed, the sound coming out as a rough, gravelly chuckle. He lifted his head slowly to meet your eyes again, still looking faintly dazed.
“I can’t control it,” he protested weakly, his tone pathetic.
He slid a hand down your thigh, fingers skimming over the thin fabric of your panties until he found your clothed slit. He let a strangled moan slip past his lips as he found you practically dripping for him—the fabric of your underwear ruined.
He applied a little bit more pressure on your slit, and you could feel your panties desperately trying to soak up your juices. Shakily, you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, leaving you bare for him to see.
“You’re so beautiful,” Mark managed to rasp out, his eyes flickering over your body like was suddenly seeing you for the first time.
“Alright, Casanova,” you rolled your eyes, trying not to show how much his words affected you.
Mark’s thumb suddenly pressed down on your clit and you immediately jolted forward with a moan. His touch was feather-light, barely there—teasing, almost—as he traced a finger up and down your slit.
Then, without warning, his fingers tugged your panties to the side, sliding them along your slick folds. It was embarrassing how quickly you coated his fingers and Mark couldn’t help the groan that tumbled from his lips.
You let out a moan as his fingers pushed inside you, curling in your pulsing cunt. He dipped his head down to your chest, his lips nipping and sucking at whatever skin he could find. Mark groaned against your skin when he slid his fingers deeper, his teeth lightly grazing along your nipple.
His tongue circled the peaked bud, hot and wet until you were throwing your head back in ecstasy. He nibbled lightly on the sensitive skin, enough to draw out another moan from your throat.
Mark wanted more. He wanted to give you everything so you’d never doubt just how much he craved you right this second. He pressed open-mouthed kisses against the swell of your breast, his fingers still moving between your legs.
Your eyes rolled back as Mark curled his fingers just so, your head lolling forward and resting on his shoulder. One hand threaded through his hair as the other came down to curl around his wrist, keeping him there as your hips began to rut against his hand.
Your back arched, hips lifting to chase his fingers. Mark’s head moved lower, his kisses becoming more urgent as he worked his way across to your other breast. The ball of his hand pressed against your clit and that, with the sensation of his lips around your nipple, almost became too much.
“Tell me what you want,” Mark muttered against your skin, his voice strained.
“Keep—keep going, Mark, please,” you panted, chasing your impending orgasm.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “So, so beautiful. I’ll give you anything you ask… anything you want…”
Your body trembled uncontrollably as you began to feel the heat grow in your lower stomach. Your orgasm tore through you, fast and overwhelming, and you clung to his shoulders, riding out the tremors. Mark’s name fell from your lips in a breathy moan, your vision blurring by the intensity of your release.
“fuck—Mark!” you cried out, your thighs clamping around his hand.
Mark whined, pulling back from your chest and watching as you came undone. His fingers remained deep inside you, and he curved them to hit that sweet spot one last time, chasing every last shuddering wave of pleasure he could coax from your body.
You hummed, slowly pulling your head back from his shoulder and looking down at him. He looked wrecked—chest heaving, face flushed, eyes hooded, and hair a dishevelled mess. He blinked up at you, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
He wanted you—needed you—more than anything right now.
In one smooth motion, he rolled the two of you over, pinning you beneath him. His body shadowed you, his cock resting on your stomach as he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.
“Is this okay?” he wondered sheepishly, trying to keep himself from rocking his hips against you.
“Yeah,” you smiled, reaching a hand up and carding it through his hair.
Precum smeared over your stomach, leaking from him as he hovered above you, holding his weight on his forearms. One hand tentatively slid down between you, his fingers gliding through your folds and collecting your slick to lube himself up.
The hand that held him up cradled your jaw, thumb tracing over your cheek tenderly. He paused, brows drawn tight and voice cracking as desperation started to seep into his tone, “Can—can I?”
You gave him a nod, your lips tugging up into a smile as your hands found their way back up to his shoulders, your fingers scratching at the nape of his neck. His hand gently spread you open as he pulled his hips back, dragging the length of his cock through your folds and coating himself in your slick.
Wrapping your legs around his waist, Mark lined the tip of his cock at your entrance, parting your folds, and slowly pushing in. The stretch was instant, unavoidable, and you threw your head back, letting out a lewd moan.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—” Mark rasped, squeezing his eyes shut.
Your mouth hung agape, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as he fed the rest of himself into you in slow, shallow thrusts. Mark buried his face in your neck as you clenched around him before he bottomed out.
“Thats it,” he managed finally, his voice breaking as he groaned. “That okay? You okay? Oh, fuck—”
Mark had to stop talking when he saw it—he was so deep inside you that your stomach bulged slightly. He couldn't help himself from touching you, one of his hands moved from your hip, shifting to your soft stomach to feel where he was inside of you; how he filled you so perfectly.
Your breath hitched and you couldn’t even think. Before you could even open your mouth to moan, Mark pulled his hips back. His cock dragged out of you until just the tip of him was left within you before he pushed back inside.
You could feel the vein on the underside of his cock pulsing as he bottomed out once again. He set an easy, comfortable pace, his eyes locked onto your stomach with an almost obsessive focus—watching every slight shift in movement there like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
Your ankles locked at the base of his spine, heels digging into his back and pulling him in deeper. Mark glanced down and watched the way you stretched around him, his hips stuttering at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you.
He groaned, savouring the way your bodies fit. Your legs tightened around his waist when he angled his hips to hit that spot inside you. Each time he shifted the angle or tilted your pelvis just so, it stole another moan from you.
“Oh God, baby…” he croaked.
At the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, Mark’s mouth found yours mid-moan. He kissed you softly, his tongue delving into your mouth as one of his hands slid between you and circled your clit.
His pace was picking up, becoming less controlled and more desperate and you were unable to stop the gasps slipping from your lips as he filled you over and over and over again. Your legs shook around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back in a desperate attempt to keep you grounded.
You could feel him getting close, his thrusts becoming more frantic and less measured. His lips grazed your ear as his breaths grew shallower. Your name escaped him in a breathless moan, mixed with a string of expletives as he struggled to hold on.
“I’m gonna—” he panted, his words getting cut off with a groan.
You were close, so close and one more thrust was all you needed before your orgasm crashed over you. Mark moaned again as he felt your body tense around him, his thumb still working over your clit.
Your back arched as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Mark kept up his pace, prolonging your orgasm as much as he could before his own came crashing down. His body tensed, his hips jutting as he emptied himself inside you.
His cock pulsed inside you as he continued to grind down into you in sloppy, barely-there rolls of his hips. He slumped against you, his body heavy on top of yours as he tried to regain his breath.
“H-holy shit,” he breathed, surprised by how intense his orgasm was.
He was still inside you, his head still buried in the crook of your neck as he finally caught his breath. He stayed still for a moment, his body trembling with the aftershocks. As he pulled back, his thumb brushed against your clit, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. You let out a soft gasp, your hips twitching reflexively.
Your ears rang as you slowly subsided from the aftershocks of your orgasm. He pressed a chaste kiss to your neck before his head slowly lifted up to look down at you. Mark’s eyes were heavy-lidded with satisfaction, his cheeks flushed, and there’s a pleased kind of smugness in his expression that told you he knew exactly how wrecked he’d made you.
You felt weightless as your legs fell from his waist. Mark ran his hands up and down your thighs before he slowly pulled out of you. Mark let out a low sound as he watched his release spill from you, too much for you to keep inside. It trickled down your thighs, dripping onto the mattress.
“You’re cleaning that up,” you mumbled breathlessly, running a hand through his hair.
SYNOPSIS — (req) mark comes back after his mission but something is off about him…
CONTENT — 18+ minors dni | sex pollen, shower sex, established relationship, technically dub con because of sex pollen but you want each other either way, pet names (baby, sweetheart), hand job, oral (f! receiving), light choking, cum eating? nipple play, biting, marking, light dirty talk? mating press, doggy position, cowgirl position, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie. let me know if i’ve missed anything!
WC — 5.4k
NOTE — i mean… my username is lovee-potions
MASTERLIST | REQUEST
The room was quiet in that restless, too-late kind of way, where every little sound seemed louder than it should have been. The street outside had long since gone still, the light from the window spilling thin stripes across the blankets, but you still couldn’t sleep.
Your sheets were twisted around your legs, warm but uncomfortable, as you stared at the ceiling—trying to force your mind to focus on anything but Mark. Count the cracks in the paint. Listen to the hum of the heater. Focus on the soft rustle of the sheets when you shifted your legs. None of it helped. Every time your eyes closed, your thoughts went right back to him.
You turned onto your side, then your other side, then back again. Rolling onto your stomach, you buried your face in the pillow with a frustrated sigh. The clock on your bedside table glowed with an unforgiving brightness: 2:43AM. You reached for your phone for the third time in ten minutes, half-hoping for a message and half-afraid of what it might say. Nothing. Still nothing.
You hugged the phone to your chest for a second before setting it back on the nightstand, then sat up and rubbed at your face. Your eyes felt heavy, but your body was all nerves, like it had forgotten how to relax. You pulled your knees up under the blankets and stared at the dark window.
Mark would probably hate seeing you like this. He always got this soft, guilty look when he realised you’d been worrying about him. He never liked making you wait. He never liked the fear in your voice when you asked if he was okay.
A sudden sound outside the window made you freeze. Your whole body went tense, heart jumping into your throat, and you were halfway out of bed before you realised it was only the wind brushing the tree branches against the glass. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding and sank back onto the mattress, embarrassed even though no one was there.
After a moment, you reached over and switched on the small lamp beside the bed. The warm light filled the room just enough to make the shadows less sharp. You looked around at the little pieces of Mark that had somehow ended up in your room over time: the hoodie he’d left behind, folded over the chair; the spare comic he’d shoved into your bookshelf because he swore you ‘had to read it’; the stupid souvenir he’d bought on a date and forgotten to take back.
You exhaled slowly, standing once again and heading to the bathroom. The light was harsh at first, making you squint as you flicked it on. You reached for the shower, turning the water on and letting it run as steam slowly began to fill the room.
You caught your reflection in the mirror as you began to undress—the bags under your eyes making you grimace. You stepped under the warm water and let it hit your shoulders, your back, your face—letting the heat sink into the tight places in your body.
For a little while, you focused only on the feeling of it, on the rhythm of the water, on the simple act of breathing until your lungs stopped catching. You pressed your palms against the tile and closed your eyes, trying to wash away the fear that kept circling back.
You tried not to think. Tried not to imagine where he was, what he was doing, whether he was hurt. You were still deep in thought, still caught up in the same loop of dread, running through every possibility your mind could invent. You didn’t hear the bathroom door open, nor the soft rustling of clothes hitting the floor.
You didn’t register the shower door opening and closing until strong arms slipped around your waist that your whole body jolted in surprise, and before you could even turn your head, Mark was there, pressing himself close against your back.
His hold tightened just slightly, like he was making sure you were real. Like he needed to feel you there as much as you needed to feel him. One of his hands rested over your stomach, his thumb moving in a small, absent circle, and when he finally lifted his head, you could hear the tiredness in his voice.
“Missed you,” he murmured, placing a soft kiss against your pulse point.
“Mark?” you gasped, your hands immediately coming up as you turned in his arms.
Your eyes moved over him quickly, taking in everything at once. His skin was flushed, a deep heat radiating off him that you could feel even without touching. There was a faint sheen of sweat along his forehead, trailing down the side of his neck, catching along his collarbone. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath just a little too fast, a little too sharp.
“Mark…” you said again, softer now, your hands shifting from his shoulders to cup his face, then sliding down to his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath your palm. “Hey—slow down. Breathe.”
He let out a shaky breath at that, almost like he hadn’t realised how hard he was breathing until you said it. His forehead dropped forward, resting briefly against yours, his eyes closing as he tried to steady himself.
“I—” he started, voice catching slightly before he swallowed it down.
Your brows pulled together, worry tightening in your chest again. “What’s going on?” you asked, searching his face. “Are you injured?”
“No, I—fuck—” Mark tried again, the word slipping out under his breath as his grip on your waist tightened. He swallowed hard, jaw clenching slightly. “It hurts.”
Your stomach dropped. “What hurts? I thought you said you weren’t injured—”
“I’m not injured,” he cut in quickly, his voice rougher now—strained in a way you weren’t used to hearing from him. Like he was trying to explain something he didn’t have the words for. Like even he didn’t fully understand it.
You blinked at him, frustration flickering through the concern. “What? Mark? I dont… You’re really confusing me right now,” you sighed, your hands still resting against him, grounding but unsure.
Mark shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck and dropping his gaze. He let out a weak exhale before glancing back up at you and gesturing downwards. “It hurts.”
Your eyes followed his motion, and cursed yourself for not noticing sooner. He was hard. Painfully so. Mark kept his gaze on yours as you gave him an up down and had the audacity to look sheepish. He ran a weak hand through his wet hair before letting it fall back down to his side where it tapped nervously against his leg.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life,” he said exasperatedly.
“Okay, ouch,” you teased, tracing your fingers down his chest, past his stomach and down to the tuft of hair trailing to his base until you wrapped a hand around his cock, savouring how he throbbed under your palm. “What have I been doing wrong?”
Mark groaned at that, seemingly torn between frustration and amusement. He threw his head back against the tiles, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, “No—not like—you know what I mean—its that stupid alien thing—”
“What ‘stupid alien thing’?” you wondered, moving your hand down and teasingly trailing your fingernails over the skin of his balls.
The sensation made him cry out, his cock jerking hard against his stomach. His eyes fluttered shut for a brief second as he tried to keep his composure—his chest rising and falling a little faster with each second that passed.
“There was an object… some kind of relic, I think,” he tried to explain, gulping back a groan. “It gave me this… I dunno, headache, and I thought everything was fine but now—”
“You’re aroused?” you questioned, wrapping your hand back around his base.
“Yeah,” he rasped out after a second. “F-fuck—I—”
“So you inhaled some aphrodisiac?” you laughed softly, slowly moving your hand.
He dragged both hands down his face with a groan that sounded like it had been ripped from his soul. Mark's thighs trembled, his hips thrusting up helplessly into your touch. He was trying, and failing, to keep himself under control, his hands clenching into trembling fists at his sides.
You gave your hand one particular tug and he whined loudly. His tip was flushed an angry-red, glistening and soaked with his precum. The vein along the underside of his length pulsed dangerously each time your thumb slit along the slit in his tip.
“You—you don’t have to do this,” he said, teeth clamped down hard on his lip. “I can wait—oh fuck—I can wait it out…”
“No you can’t, Mark,” you swallowed, your thighs pressing together on their own accord. “You’re in pain. I want to help. I want to make you feel better.”
With one hand firm at his base, your other hand picked up the speed around the head of him. His hips jolted as he fucked himself into your fist. He moaned your name, causing your heart to stutter in your chest at the low, needy sound.
“I’m sorry. I—I’m so sorry… this… please,” Mark groaned out your name. “I’ll—just like that.”
He panted, drawing in gasps of air, and babbled mindlessly. His hips continued to jerk into your hand, unable to help himself, lost to the pleasure. One of his hands came up to the junction of your jaw, pulling your lips onto his.
He took your breath away with how deeply he kissed you. it was incessant, all tongue and teeth. But you let him have his way with you—whatever he needed to feel better—while he broke free to mouth at your pulse.
His tongue flattened against your skin and dragged all the way up your neck, to take your earlobe in his mouth and suck. You moaned at the action, your hand tightening around him. That was all Mark needed before he came with a stuttered cry.
His cock pulsed in your grip, your name tearing from his throat. It felt endless, never seeing him come so much. Mark saw stars, his hips twitching with the force of his orgasm. It was almost painful in its intensity, the pleasure so sharp it made his legs shake.
Thick ropes of cum hit your stomach and trickled down your wrist before being washed away by the spray of water. But still, it wasn't enough. He needed you impossibly closer, he needed to consume every inch of space between you, and despite how much Mark just came, he was still hard. Desperately so.
The relief he expected, the clarity that should have come, was nowhere to be found. If anything, Mark found himself even more aroused than before. Another wave of confused arousal crashed through him, making him groan weakly. He dropped his head onto your shoulder, moving his hips into your hand once again as he hopelessly tried to find some form of relief.
You reached a hand to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him back to look at you. You barely got a look at how hazy Mark’s eyes were before he lunged forward and captured your mouth in another kiss.
Mark tried to be gentle but the second your lips parted for him, he was taken over by a need so consuming that he let the last thread of control fray to nothing. One hand fisted your hair, gripping it tight to angle your head exactly where he needed it, while the other gripped your waist.
He pulled you flush to his body, his chest pressed against yours. Gasping at his touch, Mark immediately took advantage, sweeping his tongue past yours. The hand that was on your waist slid down to the curve of your ass, squeezing gently before he lifted you up and pressed you back against the cool surface of the tiles.
Your legs wrapped naturally around his waist and you felt his cock brush against your folds. Water sluiced between you as he pressed closer, the tile cool against your bare back compared to the heat of him.
Mark sucked your bottom lip between his teeth and released it slowly before pulling back. You made a small wounded sound that went straight to his cock and you felt it twitch against your stomach.
Glancing down at his lips, you took in how they were spit-covered, plump and parted as he gulped back his pleasure. Just the sight of him so wrecked made your head spin and thighs clench. His chest heaved against yours, breath coming hard and fast as he pressed his forehead against yours.
“Baby, I can’t,” he panted raggedly, his voice barely recognisable. “You don’t understand… I’m not… I don’t know if I can be gentle.”
“That’s okay, Mark,” you whispered against his lips, sliding a hand up his shoulder to curl around the base of his neck. “Take what you need. Take me.”
“I—are you sure?” he breathed, glancing between your eyes as he tried to find any sort of hesitation. “I don't know if I can stop once I start…”
“Then don’t stop,” you purred, tightening your hand around the base of his neck.
He was all over you in seconds, his teeth scraping against your neck, hot and demanding against your skin—kissing, nipping, licking until he had a trail of marks blooming across it. He didn’t bother hiding how badly he wanted this—how badly he needed to be touching you.
His mouth crashed back onto yours with bruising intensity and your lips parted for him instantly, allowing him to take full control of the kiss. The hand that was in your hair moved down and wrapped around his cock, pumping himself a few times before lining up against your entrance.
You rolled your hips against him, the thick head of his cock dragging through your folds and gathering your slick. The action made your breath stutter, your thighs tightening helplessly around him, trying to draw him even closer, to get more of that intoxicating pleasure.
With one shaky thrust of his hips, Mark buried himself deep inside you, and the sensation punched a desperate sound from the both of you. A long, drawn-out moan left your lips as he stretched you open and filled you completely.
“Oh God, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping his head and latching his lips onto your neck and sucking hard.
Mark held himself deep inside you for a brief moment that felt like an eternity. He drew back his hips until the tip of his cock slid right to the very edges of your entrance, and then drove it back in, burying himself to the hilt.
You reached a hand up, threading your fingers through the wet strands and tugging at them. He lifted his head from your shoulder and glanced down at where your bodies met, watching his cock slide in and out of you at a frantic pace.
“Feels so good,” he breathed, brushing a calloused thumb over your bottom lip.
As your lips part to let out a moan, Mark slid his thumb into your mouth—pressing the pad of his thumb down against your tongue to make you swallow around it instead. Mark cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering as you sucked on his thumb—his gaze darkened as he watched the way your lips slid over it.
His thumb pulled free from your mouth with a soft, wet pop—a string of saliva connecting him to your bottom lip. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your head back. He closed the last bit of space between you, lips hovering millimeters above your own, his breath mingling with yours.
Mark’s grip on your chin shifted, his fingers curling to cradle your jaw as his hips slowly began to lose their rhythm as he got closer to his impending orgasm. His thumb moved to the underside of your jaw, tracing the line of your pulse with feather-light pressure.
His thumb moved again, shifting to the delicate column of your throat. He gently squeezed, enough to feel your pulse stutter beneath his touch as he leaned closer. His gaze drifted down to your neck, studying the way you shivered when he exerted that bit of pressure.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he panted, his thumb rubbing small, teasing circles on your fluttering pulse.
Mark’s body tensed at the feeling of your nails raking down his back, a sharp groan tearing from his throat. His hips stuttered again, losing their rhythm as pleasure spiked through him. He pressed you harder against the wall with one hand braced beside your head while the other gripped your thigh to hike it higher around his waist.
Water cascaded over both of you as he leaned in close enough that all you could see was him—dark lashes dripping wet and eyes burning into yours. Mark’s grip on your thigh tightened, his pace turning rougher—needy.
His free hand slid between you, his fingers finding your clit with cruel precision as he drove into you deeper. His fingers pressed harder, his hips pistoning with brutal efficiency. His forehead dropped against your shoulder as the tension in him coiled tighter.
“I’m gonna—I’m—oh shit—” he groaned, coming undone above you.
Your name ripped from his throat like a prayer as he came inside you. He buried himself as deep as he could go as his cock throbbed inside you, pulsing violently as he emptied himself inside your cunt.
There was too much—pulse after pulse filling you beyond capacity. You clenched around him, your body milking every last drop until his cum started to leak around the base of him, dripping down your thighs.
You were coming a few seconds after before your brain could even register it was happening. His arms locked around you in a vice grip, keeping you flush against him as he rode out both your highs with slow, grinding rolls of his hips.
“Fuck—fuck,” he muttered into the curve of your neck.
“Mark,” your voice cracked, still feeling how hard he was.
Blindly reaching to his left, Mark turned off the water before stumbling out of the shower with you still in his arms. He moved with urgency, carrying you a few steps to your bed and laying you down.
He followed you down, planting his forearm beside your head and covering your body with his. You were briefly wary of making everything wet, but then Mark kissed you and every thought evaporated from your mind.
His mouth left a trail of kisses down the column of your neck, pausing to nip lightly at the mark he’d made earlier. He continued his path down your body, his mouth leaving a scalding trail of wet kisses on your skin until he sucked your nipple between his lips.
Mark’s tongue circled the sensitive peak before his teeth grazed against it teasingly. His hand came up to the other, his thumb flicking over the nipple once, twice—watching how it stiffened under his touch before pinching it hard enough to make you gasp.
“Fuck, Mark,” you moaned, arching your back into his touch.
Threading your fingers into his hair, you tugged at the strands as he sucked your nipple into his mouth. His hand palmed and kneaded the other, clinging onto every whining plea that fell from your lips.
Mark groaned against your skin, his hips grinding down against the mattress. He switched to the other side, alternating between your breasts, his tongue laving over the other sensitive mound. He licked, sucked and nipped until both your nipples were peaked and glistened with his spit.
His mouth trailed down your stomach, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake until his hand smoothed up the inside of your thighs before pushing them apart. He manoeuvred you into the perfect position before propping himself on his elbows between your legs.
Only when his hand trailed down to your thigh, his knuckles lightly brushing over your skin, did you finally stop him.
“Mark,” you sighed, holding him back with the hand still tangled in his hair. “It’s not about me, Mark… this is about you.”
“No, I need this,” Mark shook his head, pulling your thighs over his shoulders. “I need to make you feel good too.”
Before you could protest any further, he bruised his face between your legs and devoured you like a man starved. Mark flattened his tongue, licking a long stripe up your slick folds from your aching hole to your clit.
“Oh, fuck,” you panted, tightening your thighs around his head and practically suffocating him.
Mark moaned against your core, reveling in the taste of you and him on his tongue, before his lips latched onto your clit. Your fingers twisted tightly in his hair as your hips bucked up helplessly in response to the maddening sensation.
He tilted his head down, shifting one of his hands to spread you wider with his thumb, opening you up as he licked and prodded at your entrance as the bridge of his nose brushed against your clit. Mark didn’t know if he could be able to keep it slow for long, not with you—not when he took such sick pride in taking you apart like this.
“So fucking delicious,” Mark murmured, pulling back for a second to spit onto your throbbing cunt. As if you needed any more lubrication.
He dove back in, his tongue spearing inside—the obscene wet sound mixing with your gasping moan. Your toes curled as he slid his tongue in and out over and over, curling and massaging your insides.
The sight of Mark was nearly enough to send you over the edge. All flushed skin and flexing muscle, he seeked his own friction by grinding down against the mattress, aching for a bit of relief from the pressure. Mark savoured the taste of you, closing his eyes and humming into your cunt.
Your head lolled even further back into the pillows as the vibrations shot through your body, your eyes fixed at the ceiling and almost teary from how good you felt. Then, without warning, Mark’s two fingers sunk into you as his mouth re-attached to your clit.
“Mark—fuck—Mark,” you moaned incoherently.
As his fingers curled and uncurled against your g-spot, you tilted your hips up to meet the thrusts of his hand. You were shaking now, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as the coil in your stomach wound up tighter and tighter.
Mark’s tongue and fingers continued to work in tandem, coaxing you closer and closer to your orgasm.
“Need you to come,” Mark rasped against you, feeling you clench around his fingers.
The raw pleading tone of his voice is what does it. Your back arched off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Mark watched you with rapt attention, keeping his mouth sealed around you—devouring every aftershock.
Mark smiled against your cunt, lapping up your release—even as it dripped down his wrist and chin. He slowed his fingers, gentling their movements, and delivering a final lick before pulling away to press open-mouthed kisses against your inner thighs.
He worked his way back up your body until he reached your face, lips glistening and hair dishevelled from your grip. Mark planted a hand beside your head, fisting the pillow as he leaned down to connect your lips.
You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He kissed you with a desperate kind of fervour, moving a hand to your jaw and tilting your head back so he could claim as much of your mouth as possible.
Your nails raked down his back, leaving a light trail of red in their wake. Mark hissed at the feeling, bucking his hips forward and dragging the swollen head of his cock through your folds, brushing against your clit.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he whimpered, his hands trembling. “Please… I need more… I need you.”
“Fuck, Mark, I—” you gasped, still trying to catch your breath from the previous orgasm. “Yeah, okay… take me.”
You reached a hand between your bodies, guiding his cock and aligning him with your entrance. Not needing to be told twice, Mark slid his hands under your thighs, hitching your legs up until your calves were over his shoulders.
He pressed his chest down against yours, his body caging you in completely. Your hands clutched desperately at his biceps that encased you as he pushed in at an antagonising pace.
You felt every inch, every bump, every ridge, every vein, every perfect, blissful drag of his cock as he split you open once again. Your legs were practically folded to your shoulders, ankles hooked around the back of his neck.
You were so full you could barely breathe, stretched impossibly wide around him—the sensation so unbelievably overwhelming you could come from that alone. He wasn’t giving you any time to adjust, his body operating on pure unfiltered need.
“So good,” he murmured, barely holding his head aloft. “Feels so good. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just need—fuck—need you so bad. Can't stop…."
His cock was buried so far inside you it felt like he was in your stomach. Each one of his thrusts were deeper than the last—his chest smothering your gasps and moans as you took him over and over.
Mark’s arms began to tremble from the tension of keeping you folded under him. He sucked in a sharp breath like he couldn’t stand how good you felt, his hips rolling deeper while locking your eyes together.
At that point, it felt like Mark was practically a part of you. Each time he rocked forward, you chased the friction instinctively. One of Mark’s hands snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.
A sharp cry slipped past your lips, your body jolting with overstimulation from your previous orgasms. Every muscle in your body twitched, wanting to flee from the sensation but, with being pinned beneath him, there was nowhere to go.
You were utterly trapped, unable to do anything but take it. You couldn’t hold back anymore—the combination of his thumb against your clit, his cock pounding into you was all too much.
“Oh god, oh God—” you moaned, grasping his wrist. “I’m close…”
“Please, baby,” he panted, his thrusts becoming needier.
You came with a keening cry as your third orgasm washed over you—your thighs shaking where they were pressed to your chest. Mark continued his thrusts, coaxing you through your orgasm but instead of slowing down, he became more frantic.
Then, without warning, he pulled out of you completely, ignoring your confused whimper, and his hands were on you—gripping your hips and flipping you around. He slid back inside you and bottomed out—his balls slapping against your clit.
Your jaw went slack against the pillows, cheek pressed to the soft fabric by Mark’s hand. He held you there for a moment, his chest hard against your back. His hips began to move, the tip of his cock nudging against your g-spot.
“Mark,” you whimpered, clutching the sheets below you.
“Yeah, baby?” he murmured into your neck. “You like that?”
His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades as his entire body shuddered with the effort to keep himself from coming apart. His hands shook where they gripped your hips; every drag of him inside you slow but punishingly deep.
“Doing so good f’me,” he breathed, kissing your shoulder.
His thrusts started to falter, growing erratic and sloppy—there was a desperate kind of ache in his movements now. The bed creaked beneath his thrusts, the force of his movements causing the headboard to smack against the wall.
Mark dragged a hand around to your stomach then, splaying it over your navel and pressing your back against him. He groaned at the sensation, his teeth biting down into your shoulder and remaining there as he spilled into you in hot pulses.
Thick ropes spurt into your cunt—being stuffed deeper and deeper with every half-thrust that followed. Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp, your eyes wide as he shifted slightly and angled his hips deeper.
You expected him to soften, to give you a moment to recover—even if it was for a second. But, for some unholy reason, Mark still didn’t slow down. A broken whimper fell from your lips as he pulled out of you once again—his and your release dripping from your abused cunt.
In a blur, before you could even catch your breath—before you could even think—he was moving, flipping you over in one smooth motion, pulling you on top of him and sliding you down onto his cock.
You were so full, so overwhelmed, you could barely process that he was still hard, still going, still in desperate need of you. Mark groaned, head tipping back against the headboard as you took him to the hilt.
His eyes locked onto where you rolled your hips—letting his cock slowly drag out of you before sinking right back in. Your thighs flexed as you rode him and the heat between you built. He thrusted up into you, meeting your movements with an unexpected roughness.
“Fuck, baby—” he panted, voice breathless, his finger flexing on your ass. "I can't—fuck, just need one more from you—Can you do that for me? Please, baby, just one more."
You lifted a hand from his chest and cupped his mouth as you rode him harder, faster. The pleasure was building quickly, both your thighs shaking from overstimulation. Your breasts bounced with each movement and Mark’s hands slid up your back, over your ribs, before grabbing your tits.
He squeezed your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, making your hips stutter into a slow grind that made his cock rub just right inside you. Mark was so incredibly close to losing it all—his hands roaming at any piece of skin he could reach.
His thumb slid back down to your clit, lazily rubbing circles over the swollen bud. Your back arched, pace stuttering for a second before chasing your fast approaching orgasm. You were coming before your brain could even register it was happening.
“Mark,” you moaned, tilting your head back.
Your thighs shook violently, muscles screaming, as you slowed your movements. You could hear him mumble into your palm and you pressed your hand tighter to his mouth. He was so close, and he knew you felt it too.
With a few more weak thrusts, Mark’s cock twitched inside you, and he groaned into your palm. He shuddered beneath you, the intensity of his orgasm clearly overwhelming as he filled you up one last time.
His hips slowed gradually and you let your hand fall from his mouth—the last of your strength giving out entirely. Your head lolled onto his shoulder, too heavy to hold up anymore.
Mark breathed raggedly against your hair, his chest heaving and he could finally feel the burning under his skin start to fade. His taut muscles finally loosened and the desperate need in his chest began to settle.
You were both spent, and there was nothing left for you both but to melt into one another. You nuzzled into the crook of his neck as he placed a delicate kiss on your temple. Slowly, he rubbed lazy circles into your skin—his hands soothing and gentle as you regained your bearings.
He looked down at you with a sigh of contentment, and you lifted your head just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw softly. You felt your chest flutter as he leaned in to kiss your forehead—his gaze warm and loving.
Unwillingly, Mark slowly pulled out, watching his cum spill out of you. His throat bobbed, lips parting slightly as he watched it drip down your thighs and cling to your folds.
“Looks like we’re going to need another shower,” he teased softly.
“I guess so,” you hummed sleepily, closing his mouth with a finger under his chin.
⊹₊˚. MHA 10K SPECIAL — even when he’s overstimulated and a whining mess, you just can’t stop coming back for more. / midoriya izuku, bakugo katsuki, todoroki shoto, kaminari denki, amajiki tamaki, & takami keigo.
warnings: 18+ content, mdni. fem! reader, overstimulation, cunnilingus, handjobs, blowjobs, orgasm control, reader’s a kinda mean, 69, begging, some femdom action, sub undertones, pussyjob.
xoxo, juno: thank you guys so so much for ten thousand followers! <3
MIDORIYA IZUKU.
⟡ izuku likes to explore different experiences and whatnot in the bedroom. while he’s the one who’s typically controlling your orgasms, he doesn’t mind switching things up... even if you make him cry.
“c’mon, baby, that’s not fair,” izuku has to pull away from your slick cunt yet again, his voice trembling in a way that’s almost petulant. “you keep distracting me and i haven’t even made you cum yet.”
a thick glob of spit lands on his cock and he jolts, hips jerking up. when he agreed to try out the new position you said you were interested in, your boyfriend certainly did not expect this—you’re just dragging orgasm after orgasm out of him like it’s nothing.
“maybe your multitasking skills aren’t as good as you thought they were,” you tease, all singsongy with your hand on his sensitive dick. “if you stopped trying so hard and just let me take care of it, you wouldn’t be whining right now.”
izuku scoffs, pulling your hips back so he doesn’t strain his damn neck. “i can’t believe you’re calling my concerns whining, of all things. also, aren’t you the one always saying you like—oooh, fuck.”
slick with the messy mix of spit and cum, your fist glides up and down his cock. it doesn’t take long for you to find your groove, especially when he’s reacting so quickly, each moan telling you more than enough. his hands are on both of your asscheeks and your pussy’s dripping right in front of his face, and he’s not doing a damn thing about it.
“h-hey,” izuku tries, clearing his throat in hopes of regaining control over his shaking voice, “interrupting people when they’re—oh my god—when they’re talking is rude.”
you roll your eyes, roling your tongue over his tip. he moans shamelessly, hips desperately bucking up in delusion. just a little bit of action with your tongue and he thinks he’ll get a blowjob—please. izuku’s done nothing to deserve a gift like that right now; the position you’re in allows for him to slurp you up like a sundae, and yet, he hasn’t taken action.
“not finishing the meal in front of you is pretty rude, too.” you rock your hips forward and back, giving him a downright sinful view of the mess between your thighs. glossy strings of slick cling to your skin, just begging to be licked up, and then there’s your all too empty cunt.
izuku’s out of retorts and thinking only of how soft your hands are against his cock. the languid flick of your wrist is nothing but slow and smooth, just the way he likes it—oh, did a tear just run down his cheek?
all of the built up sensitivity makes him easy. he’s stumbling over his words now, jerking his hips up and gasping for breath. “‘m gonna cum again, baby. d-don’t slow down, please don’t slow down!”
while izuku’s cock is thickening and throbbing in your fist, you’re busy adjusting yourself, pulling your knees back so that your ass is now hovering over his face.
“i’m gonna cum,” he sobs, and the sound goes straight to your clit, “oh, fu—”
you plant your ass right onto his face, neglected pussy sliding against his open mouth. it feels like heaven when izuku groans at the contact, his tongue finally stroking along your dripping entrance. the overwhelming taste of sweetness is already too much, and then you start to move—rough and graceless, your hips rock over his face.
this is you taking what you want, and god, it’s hot.
cum spurts over your fingers in thick, creamy trails and he stops thrusting up, no longer trying to meet your hand as it comes down. he may be spent, but you’re nowhere near finished with him.
“damn, ‘zuku. i can’t believe you’re making me do all the work here.”
your boyfriend starts to whine between desperate licks against your cunt, much of his noise muffled by your ass covering his face. even after squeezing most of the cum out of him, you don’t slow down—he was the one who told you not to, right? (curiously, you want to see if throwing your ass back onto his face while overstimulating him will result in another orgasm.) now, he may be coming close to suffocating, but this is the kind of death he’d welcome with open arms. or, open mouths, in his case.
BAKUGO KATSUKI.
⟡ katsuki would never sit there and let you jerk him off until he’s shaking. why? because it won’t work, and because it’s ‘such a stupid idea and waste of time’. but maybe overstimulation isn’t so stupid when you’re riding him like a racehorse and bouncing those moans out.
“mhm, mhm,” katsuki’s gripping your hips and roughly guiding you along his cock, making sure that you’re keeping the pace. “atta girl, that’s real good. hah—been waiting for this all day.”
japan’s number five hero works hard every single day. katsuki’s constantly going on patrols, apprehending criminals, dealing with co-workers . . . it’s a lot, and he deserves a break from all of it.
your chest heaves, tits bouncing in his face, and he’s never been so enthralled. his cock is snug inside you and being squeezed tight by your clenching walls; even better, he’s about to empty himself out inside you. there’s so much to give you that he doesn’t even want to pull out too quickly, lest it all run out of you.
“k-katsuki,” you whine his name, nearly choking on it, “oh my god, you’re so deep. ‘s like i can feel you in my stomach.”
rough and large, one of katsuki’s palms comes to rest against the soft skin of your tummy. he chuckles gruffly, pressing into the slight bulge his cock makes inside of you. “that’s because i’m in there. you feel that, right here? is it too much for you?”
you nod, and he laughs, white teeth catching the light. they look sharp in his mouth, gleaming with something almost predatory. “that’s just too bad, huh? i’m about to fill up this pussy of yours, and you’re not gonna let a single drop leak out. is that clear or no?”
katsuki’s command doesn’t quite sound physically possible. if you were to get up and off of him, everything would spill down your thighs and make a not-so-sexy mess. you haven’t cum yet, and you also want to listen to him—maybe if you were to stay on his lap, you could make both things happen.
thinking you’re not listening, he smacks your ass and arches an expectant brow. you shake your head, throwing your arms over his shoulders to maintain balance, “i - yeah, i heard you. sit back and let me work my magic, kat. my break was too long, you didn’t tell me.”
his jaw clenches slightly. you can see that he’s biting his tongue, too close to the edge to be making any more snarky comments. there’s a faint shaking in both of his thighs, and you’re very interested in seeing if you can make it worse.
you’re bouncy as you ride his cock, slamming your ass down on him and putting on quite the show. of course, katsuki ends up reaching his high with a guttural groan of your name that dissolves into a series of curses and harsh breaths. seeing him fall apart is a delicious sight, and your thighs are starting to burn with exertion as you ride him through it, but then he lets out the lowest of whines.
katsuki, of all people? finally losing enough of his composure to stop holding back those amazing sounds? now you’re determined to pull more out of him, no matter the cost! exhaustion melts into exhilaration, and you’re bouncing on his cock with renewed vigor.
“fuck,” he chokes out, voice tight, “holy fuck, i just came”—katsuki’s fingers twitch and he reaches out to grab your hips, but he stops short—“g-god, what’s with you? not even gonna give me a damn break?”
you just shake your head, breathing hard. your palms are pressed against his chest now, and you’re looking at him like you want to eat him alive. “not yet, not until i—ngh, oh my god—i hear you stop holding yourself back.”
he just moans, broken and raw. “fuck do you mean i’m holding back?”
katsuki’s completely shaking now, his abs clenching with every single noise that escapes him. the air smells very faintly of burnt caramel but more so sweat and sex—little by little, he’s starting to unravel. “you know, y-you’re always gritting your teeth and grunting when it’s obvious you just feel embarrassed to make any other noise.”
he looks indignant, “i am not—” but he throws his head back, clearly overwhelmed, and the sudden whimper that slips out of his mouth completely betrays him. god, what the fuck are you doing to him? he hates that you’re right about him being slightly embarrassed but can’t muster a shred of anger or even a half-formed thought about it. you’re literally riding him stupid, and you can see when the realization of the moment registers in his brain.
the moment has really inflated your ego, and acting on impulse, you grab him by the the throat, which surprises both of you. katsuki’s eyes widen a fraction at the familiar action—he’s the one who’s supposed to be grabbing you—and startled, he accidentally whines. it’s louder than earlier and much filthier; he sees the excitement on your face and feels your pussy clench hard around him.
he’s too stunned to speak, not only by the way you’ve grabbed him but also by the sparks of arousal shooting up his spine in response. you only smirk at him, pleased by the sudden role reversal. “that’s what i’m talking about, kat. let me really hear how much you like it.”
TODOROKI SHOTO.
⟡ when you mention a little something about overstimulation, shoto isn’t entirely unfamiliar with the subject. he’s pretty sure he’s made you experience that before, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous for you to try it out on him..
shoto’s leg jerks like you’ve just used a reflex hammer on him. he can feel the warmth searing its way across his face when your eyes meet his, a smile playing on your lips like you aren’t stroking his cock at the moment.
he lets out something between a gasp and an exhale, biting at his lower lip. “sweetheart, do you really have to—f-fuck—look at me like that?”
“like what?” you ask coyly, leaning in so that your lips just barely graze against the sensitive tip of his cock. shoto’s all sticky, slick with a tantalizing mixture of sweat and too many orgasms to count; the quietest of whines slips out of him, and he tears his eyes away, averting them to a nearby couch cushion.
“like that,” he insists, at a loss for words, “like you’re doing anything but jerking me off right now. you know exactly what you’re doing to me, angel.”
you laugh at him. you actually laugh at him, as if he’s just said something funny—but it’s pretty hard to be indignant when you speed up as well. the flick of your wrist is smooth, almost a little lazy, but you don’t have to try too hard to get his heart racing. it’s embarrassing, honestly, the way he can feel his orgasm rising up in his gut—fast and hot, like fast-moving magma in a volcano.
“d-don’t look at me,” shoto says, sounding like he’s begging you not to, “hah, this is already too much for me.”
his cock twitches in your grip, thickening and throbbing under your touch. you’re working him like a fucking pro, stroking him the way he first taught you how to—but he never expected you to use those skills against him! shoto can’t quite tell if you’re tormenting him or not, but it definitely feels like it every time you coo his name.
“sho, baby,” just the sound of your voice causes a shudder to rock his entire body, making his shoulders roll forward, “i can’t look away, though. you always make this really hot face when you cum, and seeing it makes me feel like i’m right there with you. c’mon, look at me, i want to—”
there’s a choked, desperate moan only a second before hot cum spurts over your fingers in copious amounts. each burst is better than the last, especially because he just gets louder. soft gasps transform into pants of your name and groans that he’s no longer able to hold back. shoto can only squirm when you keep going, giggling as you use his cum as lube.
“oh, oh my god,” he’s bucking toward you and drawing back whenever you give him too much, so blissed out he’s not even sure what he wants anymore. “fuck, i can’t—w-wait, don’t stop.”
if there’s anything he’s sure of, it’s the fact that you’re gonna be the death of him one day. you giggle at him, squeezing tighter. “don’t stop? i thought it was don’t look.. make up your mind, sho.”
KAMINARI DENKI.
⟡ denki 100% thinks he’s gonna die when you walk in on him humping your pillow. like, what if you pull a fucking glock out from under the bed?? the last thing he expects you to do is ‘help’ him out, aka make him suffer a little.
a litany of pitched moans spills out of denki’s mouth before he can even think to stop it. right now, it’s just him, a homemade video of you throwing your ass back onto him, and the pillow he’s rutting his clothed cock into—but this isn’t just any pillow.
it’s your pillow, and your name is the only coherent thing on his lips.
“fuckfuckfuck—” denki’s panting lowly, cursing under his breath as he feels himself getting closer and closer to the edge; the audio from the video blasts through his headphones at full volume, the sounds of your giggles and his panting filling his ears. it’s so loud that he doesn’t even hear you step into the room, nor does he hear the way you say his name.
it’s only when he rips his eyes away from his phone to tilt his head up against the forming tears does he see you standing there with your arms crossed. denki can’t even throw the pillow to the side—not only have you seen him, you’ve probably noticed the large wet spot in his boxers with every rough pass of his hips.
“is that my pillow?” you ask, not breaking the eye contact with him. oh fuck, you’re getting onto the bed with him now—shit, and you’ve just taken your pillow away from him.
you’re looking over it, noticing the dampness of the colored pillowcase and the wrinkles on the sides from how hard he’d been gripping it.
“it’s not what it looks like!” denki tries weakly, sitting back on his knees and holding his hands up in surrender. “if you’d just hear me out—”
before he can even finish his sentence, your hand is on his cock and squeezing rather tightly—your thumb is just under his tip and pressing firmly, and even though you’re a little mad at him, it feels good. maybe it’s the way you’re grabbing him too tightly for him to escape, or it’s the unreadable glare and the heat behind it, but he cums, right then and there.
“you’re such a slut, baby,” it’s the first thing out of your mouth as you start to carelessly tug on his cock, turning his boxers into more of a mess. hot and thick, cum soaks through the fabric. some of it gets onto your hand, but you don’t give a damn—you’re a lot more focused on the sounds that he’s making in response to your words. “i knew you were desperate, but c’mon, denki,” you say his name with so much vitriol that he feels it in the very tip of his cock, “i said i’d be home in an hour, and that you could do whatever you wanted to me. but nooo, you decide to fuck my pillow instead. you have to admit how pathetic that is, baby.”
denki sucks in a breath, desperate for the air that’s escaping his lungs, “h-hey, it’s not my fault, it’s yours. you were taking too long and—ngh, shit, don’t squeeze so tight! ‘m still sensitive—”
“what, you’re gonna cum again?” you roll your eyes, giggling at the way his hips chase your hand when you pull it back, “i should just sit here and make you get yourself off. why should i even help you, hm?”
“you’re literally so mean,” his hiss turns into a yelp when you do squeeze him more roughly, sliding your fist down in the process. both on the inside and outside, his boxers are a complete mess: sticky with splotches of cum and full of his leaking cock. “i didn’t even get a break, you can’t just—”
with a smirk on your face, you just sit back and watch him cum again, but this time, you let go. denki can’t even finish his sentence before he’s gushing into his ruined boxers, hips rutting blindly into the air and searching for your grasp on him. the stinging overstimulation kicks in before the bliss can end and he’s left shuddering, with his teeth clicking together.
he actually lets out a little whimper, of all things, when you reach toward his waistband and completely ignore the way he draws his hips back.
“let’s see if i can help you remember not to mess with my pillows this time, okay? you could really use a reminder of why you should be patient, denki.”
AMAJIKI TAMAKI.
⟡ tamaki is NOT innocent, even if he acts like he is. he knows what he’s doing when he’s grinding against you in the store, or ‘accidentally’ turning chaste kisses into ones with tongue. the only way you’re able to get him under control is to throat his dick in a place that’s a little more public than private.
tamaki can only shudder as you pull off of him to cough, his cock hanging slick and sensitive between his thighs. even after one of your rougher blowjobs, he’s still hard and waiting for the next round of your punishment. you glare up at him, fuming, and he’s never been so excited.
“i’m so done with you,” you huff, harshly wiping away the spit on your chin. your throat is a little sore from choking on his dick, but it’s nothing compared to the mix of pleasure and pain he’ll be feeling when you get your mouth on him again. with the back of your hand, you hit him right where it should hurt, and tamaki just moans, his hips thrusting forward. you scoff, voice nothing short of lewd and dripping with absolute contempt. “god, you’re the definition of a slut.”
“well, what about you?” he murmurs in a tone that you don’t like in the slightest, the tips of his ears flushing a deeper pink. “you’re the one who’s on her knees behind a car in a busy parking lot.”
they’re fighting words, but you can sniff out the weakness behind them. tamaki’s trying and failing to be a brat; you grab his cock by the base, your grip firm and leaving no room for resistance.
“what was that? i’d love for you to repeat what you just said.”
you begin to stand up, the soles of your shoes scuffing against the pavement. his hands are on your shoulders and desperate as he tries to ease you back down, shaking his head frantically. he’s obviously backpedaling, rethinking what he said and anything that could fix it.
“nonono, please,” tamaki’s breathless, his expression pulling into one of unadulterated need, “i-i didn’t mean to—don’t leave me like this.”
another please trembles on his lips. you give him some grace by taking the tip of his cock between your lips, tongue grazing along the underside of it. tamaki barely deserves this—that little freak was practically humping you in the store, sidling up behind you and pressing his hips into your ass so you could feel that half-hard cock of his. to anyone passing by, this would look like a full body hug, but you knew exactly what it was, and it was quite the opposite of an innocent embrace.
he slides further down your throat and winces a little at the sensation. he’s still sensitive from a few minutes ago and not ready to cum again, especially so soon, but being without your mouth would hurt a lot more. in the distance, a few people walk past the row of cars yours is parked in, unsuspecting and completely unaware of the filth in their vicinity.
holding him by the base of his cock, you exhale and pull back, voice slightly raspy. “we’ll deal with this fully once we get home, but right now? i want you to cum in thirty seconds or you’re gonna wait.”
tamaki doesn’t question you. he only nods feverishly and bites his tongue, afraid to say something wrong again. after all, it’s a lot easier to shut up and listen rather than try and talk back. you’re back to slurping his cock again, and all he can think about is how good you look like this.
eyes hooded, cheeks bulging, lips glossy with spit—shit, he could cum just from looking at you. the thirty second rule is about to become the ten second rule . . and it does, when your eyes meet his and something shifts inside of him.
you taste his cum before you hear him warn you. he paints your throat white, falling over the edge with a loud groan that breaks into softer whines and eventually whimpers. afraid of overstimulation, tamaki starts to draw his hips back, gasping only when you warn him not to with a slight clenching of your teeth around his cock.
“woah, woah woah woah—hold on! h-hey, i thought you wanted to go home after this,” tamaki grabs onto the car for support as you continue sucking his soul out through his dick, too shaken up to register the heat of the surface. “um, isn’t it a bit hot out here? shouldn’t we get in the ca—ahh—r?”
he shudders despite the heat he just mentioned, shaken by your determination to keep going. right now, he’s walking a very fine line between stinging pain and fading pleasure—every slurp of his cock tugs him further to either edge, but all he can do is take it. how else could you punish him for being such a slut in the store earlier?
TAKAMI KEIGO.
⟡ whenever you offer to ‘take care’ of him, keigo knows exactly what you’re getting at and always flips it around so that you’re the one who ends up crying. but once you make him cum once, the rest come very easily.
“okay, i’m begging now, this is me begging,” tears roll down keigo’s temples when he arches his back, trying in vain to free himself. “d-don’t, not again. baby, i thought you said you hated when i cry.”
light as a feather and ticklish, the tips of your fingers trail down his muscular chest just to tease. “that’s only when you’re hurt or i can’t comfort you, kei. these are sexy tears.”
half tucked just under his body, keigo’s wings flap slowly but powerfully, blowing air and stray feathers all around the room. he’s trying his hardest to keep them under control, but it’s damn near impossible with you straddling him.
“ugh, fuck—stop it, i want to cum inside you,” he whines as you start to grind down on him again, pussy sliding slick and smooth over his cum-covered cock. thanks to you, keigo’s made quite the mess on himself—white streaks cover much of his pelvis and lower belly, while the excess trickles down his inner thighs. “no way you’re gonna do this to me again.”
“c’mon, kei,” you murmur, circling your hips over the tip of his cock in a suspicious pattern that seems to spell something out, “just one more, please? can you do that for me, keigo?”
“you can’t say it like that and expect me to say no,” he hiccups as you brush a few stray hairs out of his face, your touch impossibly gentle and completely opposite to the way you’ve been treating him. first, you tied him to the headboard and started with a blowjob—but then you figured it’d be more exciting to hop into his lap and see how many times you could make him fall apart without putting him inside you.
it feels like keigo’s soul is about to leave him when you start up with the praise and cooing of his name. it makes all of his frustration melt away, and it’s so dangerous because it makes him want to listen. you could say anything in that tone while kissing his jaw or cradling the side of his face and he’d do whatever you asked him to.
some of the longer feathers of his wings brush lightly against your jaw as they flap again, struggling to stay still. “you’re killing me,” keigo gasps, strained, his hips jerking up, “i need you to ride me already, dovey.”
you pull back when he pushes forward, smirking with amusement. keigo’s tied up and genuinely begging (though it could be more desperate), even though you both know he could escape if he really wanted to. if he were truly as frustrated as he says, he would slice the soft rope binding his wrists and fuck you into the next god damn day.
but he doesn’t.
keigo likes when you’re in control and deciding how he should cum, even if it’s not always the way he wants. you continue, settling back into position. by the last strange swirl of your hips, he’s realized that you’ve spelt out your name on him, similar to the way that he does when he’s eating you out.
he thought he couldn’t for at least a little while, but he clearly thought wrong. keigo cums right then and there, his cock spurting warmth all over your pussy and contributing to the mess.
“f-fuck, i’m cumming,” his jaw is dropped and a small amount of confusion seeps into his expression, though it’s mostly covered up by the euphoria.
“that was certainly . . fast, keigo,” you giggle while he moans thoughtlessly, his teary eyes squeezing shut as he rides out his high, body trembling and all. now, you could untie him and let him fuck you, but where’s the fun in that? where’s the control? you know both of you would enjoy it more if he was left tied up and you rode him into oblivion instead.
someway, somehow, he’s still spilling cum even as you grab his twitching cock and sit on it. keigo lets out a delicious noise at the feel of you wrapped around his cock, his throat bobbing and shiny with sweat in the light.
“god, you’re so big,” the compliment goes straight to his dick and makes him moan even louder, his chest rapidly rising and falling. his pupils are blown when he opens his eyes again, squinting at you through the tears like you’re straight out of his favorite fantasy.
“y-you gotta sit for a second, dovey, it’s too much. ‘m actually empty right now, can’t cum again.”
keigo lets out a sob the moment you start moving, ass bouncing off his thighs while his cock goes deep. he starts running his mouth, babbling teary nonsense about how it’s too much—he almost shuts up once you lean over him, allowing him to press his face into your neck.
he shuts his eyes, dizzy from the overstimulation. “fuckfuckfuck—oh, you’re ridin’ me so good. hngh, don’t s-stop, mommy—”
Can I request Yandere Omega Izuku Midoriya x Alpha Male reader. Alpha male reader is kind of a jock, big, strong, protective alpha but a sweetheart, kind, and caring. Yandere Omega Izuku has had a cush on Alpha male reader since before UA beause Alpha male reader was nice to Izuku even when he was quirkless, and is sill crushing on him now that they are both in UA together.
Soft Words, Sharp Teeth
♡ Character: Yandere Omega!Izuku Midoriya x Alpha!Male!Reader
♡ Warnings: Yandere themes, soft jock alpha reader, obsession, A/B/O dynamics, stalking, yandere thoughts (not super dark), pheromone/scent mention
♡ A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on my last post… over 200 likes on my very first fic is actually insane and made me do a little scream into my pillow <33
I’m so grateful to everyone who read, reblogged, and sent sweet messages—it means the world!!
This one was a request (my very first, actually, so I hope it satisfies!) Thank you for the delicious prompt, and please feel free to keep sending them in!! I had way too much fun writing soft jock alpha reader with an unhinged omega Midoriya watching him like a hawk.
Hope you enjoy the descent~
♡ WC: ~1k
𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸
You’ve always liked the way Izuku smells.
It’s subtle. Calming. Kind of like fresh-cut grass and ink. You think it might be from all the time he spends scribbling in those notebooks of his, muttering about quirks and battle strategies. But there’s something warmer under it—sugary and a little sharp, like fruit left too long in the sun. Overripe, almost. Dangerous, if you weren’t used to it.
But you are used to it.
You’ve been sharing classes and training sessions since UA started—known each other even longer. You’ve sparred together, sweat together, laughed breathlessly on the ground after Aizawa kicked your asses in joint combat. You’ve carried him when he’s collapsed, tucked him under your jacket when it rained, brought him water bottles when he pushed himself too far. You’ve always looked out for him—because that’s just what you do.
You’re an alpha. The urge to protect is in your very bones. And Izuku’s always looked like someone who needed a little protecting.
Small. Sweet. Nervous. Smiles like he doesn’t think he deserves it.
So of course, back in middle school, when Bakugou was cornering him—snarling like a mad dog with sparks in his hands—you stepped in. It wasn’t even a question. Just instinct.
You remember the look on his face.
Like someone had just handed him the moon.
♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ
It was after a training session, when most of the other students had already parted ways, eager to shower and rest, that you approached him.
“Hey, uh… Midoriya?” You jog up beside him, still wiping sweat from your neck with a towel. “You good?”
He startles like he didn’t hear you coming—which is weird. Omegas usually clock alphas the second they’re within five meters. You’re about to apologize when he turns, eyes wide and shining like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“Oh! Yes! I-I’m good! Fine! Thank you for asking!”
He’s twitchier than usual, fingers tapping rapidly at his thigh. His scent flares—warm and sugary, like the air right before a thunderstorm.
“You sure?” you ask, tilting your head. “You kinda zoned out there.”
He stares at you.
Hard.
It’s something he’s done for almost as long as you’ve known him—like he’s trying to memorize your face down to the way your lashes fall.
“You’re always checking on me,” he says softly.
Your ears go a little red. “Well—yeah. That’s not a bad thing, is it?”
“No,” he says, his smile curling at the corners. “It’s not bad at all.”
♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ
You’ve always liked Izuku.
But lately, you’ve started to notice him.
How he always seems to be in the same place as you. How his eyes track you when he thinks you’re not looking. How his scent clings to your clothes sometimes, even when you’re sure you haven’t touched.
You chalk it up to proximity. Dorm life. Sparring partners. Shared meals.
You try not to think too hard about how your favorite hoodie went missing for a week… only to show back up in your laundry pile smelling faintly of something that wasn’t you.
♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ
“You remember, right?” Izuku says one day after training.
You blink, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Remember what?”
“In middle school. When you helped me.”
You pause, towel halfway to your face. “Oh. Yeah, of course I do. Bakugou was being a dick. You looked like you needed backup.”
A lazy smile makes its way onto your face at the memory—of the way Bakugou balked at the mere idea someone would contradict an alpha as powerful as him. He’s always been a little full of himself that way.
“I did,” Izuku murmurs. “And you were the only one who gave it.”
You shift awkwardly. Compliments always feel weird coming from him—too intense. Like he’s seeing something you don’t. Like there are heavy meanings behind his innocent words.
“I mean… anyone would’ve done it.”
“No,” he says—and suddenly, he’s close. Close enough that you can see the freckles on his neck, the way his lips part like he’s tasting your scent. “No, they wouldn’t have.”
You swallow, the hairs on your neck standing on end.
His eyes are green fire.
♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ
You’re in the library studying together when he looks up at you innocently, chin resting in his palm, a gentle smile on his face.
“Do you… have anyone?”
You blink in surprise, not expecting a question so bold from the shy omega in front of you.
“Huh?”
“A partner,” he says casually, tilting his head. “Anyone you’re scent-matching with? Nesting? Courting?”
You laugh nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “Uh. No. Not really. Haven’t had time.”
Izuku tilts his head. His lashes lower. His scent pulses in waves like heat. It’s sickly sweet and all-encompassing—the familiar smell washes over you.
“Good,” he whispers, eyes refocusing on the papers in front of him, scribbling quickly in a notebook.
You laugh again, but it’s thinner this time. “You’re not, like… trying to set me up with someone, are you?”
He pauses, pen stilling on the page. Then he looks up again with those same intense green eyes. You freeze, feeling your heart rate spike.
“I think I’d be a good omega for you,” he says simply—like it’s the weather forecast. He punctuates it by sliding his chair just a little closer to yours.
The words hit you like a punch to the chest.
You stare at him. He’s still smiling. Still soft. Still sunshine and tea and nervous fingers.
But there’s something underneath it now—something sharp. Wild. A thread pulled too tight.
“You—you’re teasing, right?”
He laughs. Light. Easy.
But his eyes never leave yours.
♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ
You walk away, a little shaken.
Behind you, Izuku stays still. Watching.
His fingers twitch at his side.
Your scent is stronger today. Tired. Vulnerable. A little confused.
It makes him want to crawl under your skin. Make you understand.
You don’t need to keep looking.
You don’t need to be gentle to anyone else.
You’ve already chosen.
You just don’t know it yet.
he can’t stop thinking about that night. the painful feeling of your teeth ripping thru his skin and getting his blood sucked out. how good it felt.
he’s been chasing that high ever since that night.
you can’t forget that night either… now if you guys have sex you let him have control, afraid you’d hurt him again. recently it feels like he’s been… showing himself off to you?
some mornings you wake up first, you poke izuku to wake him up, shake him a little. he whines and stretches, he then likes to wrap his arm around your head and pull your face towards his neck in a … cuddling way. you’re quick to pry him off of you and give him a proper hug.
if he gets slightly injured, he shoves it in your face, telling you to kiss it better while the blood is slowly seeping out of a wound. he looks at you with these innocent yet desperate eyes, you never randomly crave blood but recently you’ve been fighting back to get a taste of his.
izuku was annoyed slightly. “look you…. can’t be so careless around someone like me… i love you and i don’t want to hurt you again.” you reminded.
“yeah yeah… i know that.” he says brushing it off. you sigh letting him know you’re going to bed to which he nods.
you’re ready to fall asleep, you feel the weight of your hero boyfriend climbing you and straddling your hips. you open your eyes and see him smiling at you, his shirts coming a bit off the shoulder, his skin looks so soft..
you get a hold of his hips. “uh ‘zuku?”
he grinds on your cock leaning down to kiss your lips, your jaw your cheek. you let your hands run up his back, kissing him back, you feel him free your cock from your briefs, a small whimper leaving you.
he’s already wet, aligning himself to your dick, slowly pushing it into him with a moan. he’s fucking himself on you as you completely melt and bottom out inside him.
suddenly he sits up, his thumb hooking onto your teeth, he’s feeling at your canines as he bounces in you. your hands hold onto his thighs, lost in the pleasure you don’t realize he’s pushing up on your sharp teeth, he flinches a bit when your tooth makes a cut on his thumb. you let out a small gasp before he rubs his blood all over your tongue and teeth.
you whine, the hunger in you screaming to be satisfied.
“sh..shhtop..” you try to get him off of you.
“bite me…” he says into your mouth, kissing you sloppily. the blood making you eager, you bite his tongue trying to get more. you sit up and grind into him, deeper and rougher, a desperate moan leaving him.
“c…mon..” his cock twitches, he grabs your hair gets you closer to his neck. your breathing onto his skin, the smell, the feel.. you can’t help it.
he bites his lip with a smile when he feels your teeth beginning to pierce his skin. he gasps once you’ve full pushed in, drinking his sweet thick blood.
“y…yeah.. fuck m..” your cock is throbbing inside him, his eyes are rolling back as he starts to lose his consciousness. you snap out of it and let go of him, he falls back onto the bed with a smile on his face, blood still pouring out along with the cum flowing down his cock.
“izu are you…-“ he’s twitching but he hasn’t knocked out yet, you lick up the rest of the blood and watch as he whimpers, clearly enjoying this. you huff, slightly relieved.
“f…eelz goo…” he says quietly, he jolts up feeling you enter his again. he tries to pick his head up to see your face, the bulge in his tummy making his head spin.
a couple strokes and you finish inside him, getting a bit more cum to leave him.
“such a dirty… boy izuku.” you say catching your breath, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.
Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x [gender-neutral] Reader
Summary: Anakin cries when you blow him
Tags: drabble / Anakin's pretty whimpers / teasing him / edging / dacryphilia
MASTER LIST
The Jedi code was extensive, descriptive, and strict, but it never stopped exceptions, and Anakin himself was a great one, ever since the beginning. He was supposed to be many things, but none mattered the moment he was with you, away from prying eyes. Sometimes, when you were lucky enough, you would manage to slip away because spending nights in the Temple was too risky, within the sense of so many powerful Jedi that could sense your connection as easily as one could notice a sudden breeze.
It was a cheap motel in the lower levels of Coruscant, but it was more than enough if it meant the two of you could be together without worrying about anything beyond the closed walls of the bedroom. Not even ten minutes had passed since you two entered the room, and Anakin’s pants already echoed through it, punctuated by soft whimpers.
A pretty pink dusted Anakin’s cheeks as he looked down at you through half-lidded eyes and blown pupils, hands pressed to the wall, each by a side of his hips. Fuck it if the floor would stain your pants and leave marks on the knees, you just couldn’t waste any second by moving to the bed or the couch, much busier with continuing to mouth the outline of the bulge that strained his pants, keeping your eyes on his face as much as you could.
“You’re so hard for me, baby,” you mumbled, easily earning yourself an adorable whine. Anakin’s cock visibly twitched when your fingers grazed the waistband of his pants, so you took a few more seconds than you planned to start tugging it down, letting it grind along his length, and when you did the same with his boxers, he let out another breathy moan. “So pretty. Look at you.”
Pearls of cum glazed the flushed tip, enough to ease your hand’s motions as you wrapped it around his cock and pumped him slowly, feeling every vein, every pulsation. Your eyes followed attentively as another bead escaped his tip, rolling down your thumb’s knuckle.
“Please,” Anakin’s breathy plea cut through your thoughts, and you glanced up at him again, wishing you could swallow the moans straight from those soft plush lips, but you focused on busying your mouth with something else right now.
Anakin was sensitive, and you never had the opportunity to have him often enough to cure that sensitivity away, which was far from bad. He was responsive to every little touch, craving everything and anything from you, and who were you to deny?
The tangy, salty taste was more than familiar, spreading on your tongue as you licked a stripe from the base to the tip before going back down, tracing the vein. Up again, your tongue reached the underside of his tip, snatching a higher-pitched moan from Anakin as his hips bucked forward. You could only imagine how painfully needy he was after only being palmed and mouthed through his pants for so long, only now getting the friction and contact he ached so much for.
Your tongue swirled around the tip before closing around it, and Anakin’s breath fell completely out of pace when you finally took him in your mouth. First, deep throating, then bobbing shallowly. Even if he tangled his fingers in your hair, it was mostly for leverage than to fuck into your mouth, because he obediently kept his hips in place when you held them against the wall.
“G’nna cum,” Anakin whined, cock twitching, leaking more, thighs quivering. How adorable. A sound of frustration followed after you pulled away, and cold air replaced the warmth of your mouth; he almost folded over. He looked down, eyes glazed, as he observed you nuzzle into his crotch, in a way you mouthed at his balls lightly. It felt so good, but he didn’t want to cum like that, he needed you, he needed you to have every drop.
“Mmph, please,” Anakin repeated. He hoped he could hold back.
“What’s it, baby?” You raised your eyebrows lightly, heart fluttering when you caught the sight of a tear finally escaping his eye and trailing down his cheek. Your thumbs rubbed circles into his hips, soothing and demanding all at the same time.
“Need your mouth ‘round me,” Anakin babbled. The words ran one into another, his small voice breathy and whiny. He exhaled shakily, another tear escaping his eyes as his cock twitched painfully.
“Oh, poor little thing,” you whispered, kissing his tip while wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. “‘M gonna take care of you.” You took him into his mouth again, cock heavy on your tongue, throbbing even more when you hollowed your cheeks. Something similar to a sob escaped his lips, and it didn’t even take long before he came, salty bitter cum coating your tongue as you kept working your mouth around him, despite the soft sobs that still escaped his lips, muffled by his palm.
You’ve spent the entire afternoon holed up in Tim’s bedroom, tossing and turning on his bed whilst mindlessly scrolling on your phone as he got some work done, occasionally exchanging some words.
Time’s passed uneventfully. The comfortable kind that’s only silently felt by being in each other’s presence. It was uneventful until Stephanie sent you the article that almost made you holler.
The incessant—you say incessant, though it’s really quite satisfying—clickling of the keyboard stilled at your words, then came the sound of the rolling of the chair against the floorboards. “What?” He faced you then. “With who?”
“Red Robin.”
He let out a snicker, shoulders bobbing with quiet laughter. “Oh,”
You simply held out your phone, which he took. And you saw the moment he read the title of the said article.
TIM DRAKE’S PARTNER SPOTTED KISSING WITH ONE OF GOTHAM’S MOST MYSTERIOUS VIGILANTE, RED ROBIN.
A pair of blurry, yet unmistakable pictures of you and Tim—as Red Robin— followed the juicy headline below it. You weren’t explicitly kissing in the pictures, just what looked like the aftermath of it. His hands were on your waist, your lips had a visible grin on, your foreheads were nearly touching.
Your eyes sought for his every reaction with anticipation as his eyes swept along the paragraph. Your smile grew wide with his own, amused chortles falling off your lips.
When he handed the phone back to you, his expressions playfully dimmed, looking exaggeratedly hurt, though his stare gleamed with mirth. “You’ve been cheating on me with Red Robin?” He put a hand on his chest, shaking his head with feigned disbelief. “And discard all the years we’ve been together? I’m heartbroken. Beyond inconsolable.”
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” You played along seamlessly, acting guilty. Even though neither of you bothered to hide your smiles. “He’s just... so much better than you are, Tim.”
His mouth turned up, leaning back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. (You had absolutely no control of the way your eyes followed and your gaze stuck onto those flexed biceps like magnet to metal.) “Yeah? What does he have that I don’t?”
You got off the bed and approached him, still sat on his chair, blue eyes following your movement as you climbed onto his lap. His hands falling to rest on your hips.
“Well, for one, he always has a mask on, that’s hot and mysterious. And he has a cool staff, and also, he seems like the type of guy who’d give his lonely partner more attention than his work,” You sighed a long, dramatic breath. “But I guess I wouldn’t know.”
Tim shook his head at your antics, huffing out a chuckle. “You’re so dramatic. I love you.” You felt lips connect to your temple, his hand drawing little stars across your spine, and you were done for.
Melting in his arms like a puddle, you sighed once more, your head falling to the crook of his neck.
“I love you, too.” you mumbled against his skin, cheek smushed against his broad shoulder.
He smiled, pulling back to meet your eyes. “Well, that's how you know not to listen to random articles,” He took the the phone again, eyes squinting at the texts. “They didn't even write your name!”
You turned, too, scowling at the phone like it was your enemy. “Right? That's so rude.”
“Seriously, put some respect on my girl’s name.” He gave your hips a small squeeze, looking considerably offended on your behalf.
You pulled back, a sheepish, yet smug and giddy smirk slowly forming on your lips.“Your girl, huh?” you asked, sweeping back his bangs.
“Yeah,” he said factually, shrugging. “My girl.”
“... I told you not to kiss me when you're Red Robin." you mumbled after a bit, your head leaning on his chest.
He winced, “Yeah, that's my bad.”
Yeah, your PR team was not going to have fun with that one.
author's note : this is so half-assed im so sorry. but the tim fic is coming up really soon, i just need to add a few more things, proofread and edit it before i post it. so in the meantime i give u this🫶🏻
Synopsis: In which the youngest Wayne finds herself in the middle of Gotham’s most puzzling cases, unbeknownst to her family.
Pairing: Platonic! Batfam x Child!reader
Warnings/Reminders: Batfam being oblivious, mention of deaths murder and gore, minor!character death, child!reader is mentioned as a female, lowk angst
“Where are you going?”
“Alfred’s taking me to buy candy!” (Name) chirped, neatly arranging the inside of her sling bag that was most likely filled with unnecessary objects she won’t even use outside. Like the back-up hair ribbons she tucked into the pockets.
Dick shook his head, an amused smile complimenting his pretty features. He took a few steps forward and crouched down to my level, grabbing a roll from my bag. “Ribbons, really? Birdie, you don’t need this much.”
But she could only protest by grabbing the ribbon back from his hands and placing it with the rest, zipping up her bag.
“Yes, I do. What if I lost the one I’m wearing?”
“Well, you could bring an extra.”
“And if I lost it as well?”
A laugh spilled out his lips as he rubbed his temple, both impressed and amused by her insistence. “Okay, fine. Give me one reason why you need that many ribbons other than you losing it every three minutes.”
(Name) pursed her lips as she thought about it, fiddling with the strap of her bag.
For a moment, Dick thought he won their little argument but her eyes lit up like a bulb, indicating whatever she thought would be able to make him give in, however silly it may be.
“I can tie bad guys with it so they won’t escape!”
“Bad guys? Inside a candy store?”
She nodded with a spark of certainty in her eyes that made Dick’s heart melt into a puddle. How many bad guys does she think there are inside a store that basically sold diabetes?
Nevertheless, he gave up and ruffled her hair before getting up from his crouched position.
“Alright, Birdie. You win. Now off you go. Alfred is probably waiting for you downstairs”
Just before I scurried off, he called out to me again.
“You can tie as many bad guys up but don't eat candies in one go, got that?”
“Yes, sir!” She straightened into a salute before she disappeared down the stairs, her hair bouncing with each step.
Dick sighed and slowly made his way back to his room, whistling a soft tune that felt loud in the empty hallway.
“Maybe I should also bring ribbons to fights.”
Halloween loomed around in the corner with several houses already decorated with carved pumpkins and skeletons they either got from Spirit Halloween or stole from the local school’s science laboratories.
Children were scattered around in costumes and pumpkin baskets, knocking on the doors of miserable adults who would chase them away in clown outfits.
(Name) stared out the car window, watching the passing houses in awe. “Alfred, look! I think there’s a haunted house.” She pointed at a group of people dressed in nurse scrubs with older people in wheelchairs.
“That is a nursing home, Miss”
“Oh.”
Alfred’s lips quirk up into a fond smile, casting a quick glance at her through the rear view mirror before focusing his eyes back to the road.
Alfred pulled over at the front of the new shop called Sweet Corner, an immediate hit to children and adults alike. The pastel shopfront was a stark contrast to the dark theme Gotham had going along with the scent of sweets that seemed to travel on for miles, attracting the dogs nearby.
Alfred opened the door and helped me out. She quickly stepped inside the sweet heaven with the butler following her closely, making sure the young miss doesn’t get too much.
The shop was filled with an overflowing amount of candy that the sight of it would make your teeth hurt.
A range of glass containers were placed in a large circle, each with a different type of candy. In a flash, (Name) grabbed a basket and started filling it up with sweets. Alfred immediately appeared behind her and pulled her away gently.
“Don’t take too much for yourself, Miss (Name). We still need to get candies for the other children on Halloween.” He handed her a smaller separate basket.
(Name)’s lips formed into pout, about to protest only to be silenced with a look that had a big NO sign on it. With a huff, she stalked away, holding the two buckets with a firm grip of a sulky child.
While in the middle of reaching for a bar of chocolate, she heard a crowd of children gathering in front of glass case that separated a small area where the staff was pouring what seemed like a hot melting wax onto the steel counter.
"Would you like to watch as well?" Alfred leaned down, following my gaze. She hesitated, her eyes darting down from the children and to the floor tiles.
(Name) Wayne wasn't good at making friends. She had people to talk to, sure. But children often dismiss things that don't cater to their own interests. To them, she was an anomaly that had a far complex world that the simplicity of theirs could not understand.
"You don't have to force yourself. But it would be good to make at least one friend today, don't you think?"
With a gentle push, (Name) made her way to the crowd. The staff handed out the newly made candy to the children, to which they happily snatched it from their hands and forming groups.
"I got the Batman one!"
"My Superman candy is way better than yours!"
"Wonder Woman is definitely beats them both!"
With the rest showing off and arguing which superhero was the best, (name) stood at the side, wondering how exactly she could join in the conversation. She could always pick the safest options, she supposed. But she also wants to impress them by mentioning someone niche.
The boasting soon escalated into an argument and she decided to step away from now. Soon, her gaze landed on a little girl standing in the corner.
She looked to be around few years older than (name), though more timid. Before she could think, (name) approached her, fiddling with the straps of her bag.
"Hello."
The girl could stared at her in surprise, her eyes then darting away nervously before letting out a meek 'hi'.
(Name)'s heart did a nervous thud and she mustered up the courage to continue. "Who did you get?"
"huh?"
"The candy. Which hero did you get?"
The girl looked down at her hand where she held the large lollipop that was handed out to everyone else, only that hers had a combination of green, black and white. "Oh. Um..I think it's Green Lantern."
"That's cool! Mine's Flash." (Name) gave her a toothy grin and held out her own lollipop. "I heard they're best friends. So..I uh..do you want to be my friend?"
The question came out of her with a hint of awkwardness yet certainty. There's a voice in her head that was convinced that the girl will just run off and cry to her mother about a weird girl trying to be friends with her.
Or maybe she was overthinking it? While thoughts clashed inside her mind, it was cut off when the girl held out her lollipop as well and clicked it with mine, as if they were champagne glasses.
"O..Okay."
(Name)'s eyes lit up with glee and her grin widened, a pink hue decorating her cheeks. She turned back to Alfred with a look that said 'Did you see that? I made a friend!'. The elderly man's lips formed a proud smile, giving her a nod.
'I saw'
The two girls roamed around the shop, trying out different treats while the staff weren't looking. (Name) learned that the girl's name was Effy and that her mom dropped her off to buy sweets while she went to go get groceries. Effy was surprisingly witty despite her shy nature and as well as smart.
"What does that one mean?" (Name) asked, pointing at the scribbles of dots and dashes.
Another thing that surprised the young Wayne was that Effy knew morse code, having learned it when she saw a book about it inside her dad's office.
After wandering around the store—Alfred still watching them closely—the girls sat in one corner where Effy started teaching her the basic words.
"It's your name and next to it is mine" Effy responded, looking back down at her notebook as her face flushed. "I thought I should show you.. y'know, just in case."
A rush of warmth and fondness filled (name)'s chest when she processed her words. With a smile, she listened as Effy went on to teach her other words.
After a moment, she noticed that Effy's hair was missing a ribbon, half of her blonde locks now hanging loosely on her back. (Name) perked up in realization that she brought extra ribbons and took them out. "Effy, your other ribbon is gone."
Before she could protest, (Name) started tying her hair up, as well as the other half. When she tried to give back the ribbon that lost its pair, Effy shook her head and told her to keep it.
"Now we have each other's ribbons. For remembrance."
But before (Name) could respond, everything went black.
"Effy? Effy, where are you?"
A hand grabbed my arm with a firm, steady grip and carried me into their arms.
"It's me, young miss. It's alright. You're safe. Just cover your ears."
"Alfred? What's going on? I can't see!"
"Everything will be alright. Please cover your ears."
But she didn't. She couldn't. There were screams. Children. A man. Then a woman's gut wrenching scream.
She didn't notice the tears running down her cheeks nor how hard she was clinging onto Alfred.
"Shh..we're close to the exit. It's alright. Everything will be fine"
"Good morning, (name)." Bruce's voice filled the silence that occupied her room since yesterday. He sat at the edge of the bed, studying her figure that laid tucked underneath the blanket. It's been a day since everything that had happened and the overwhelming sense of dread in my stomach hadn't disappeared.
"Two deaths. One missing. Gordon said that the killer tried kidnapping two children but one of them managed to escape. Still no leads on the missing girl."
"What about cameras?"
"The whole power went out, not just the lights. But we managed to get footage of a man entering the shop minutes before."
"Do a facial scan and look through the city's cameras. Witnesses said they saw a similar man with a red truck near the shop."
(Name) stayed behind the wall, eavesdropping into their conversation. A pang of guilt surged through her chest as she replayed the moment before the lights went out. How did she lost her? She was just right there. They were right next to each other. So why is she missing?
"(Name)"
She finally looked at her father who had called her several times already.
Bruce was never one for comfort nor reassurance. He always confronted situations with calculated force and a walled heart. That wall cracked when Dick and the others came because he shouldered the responsibility of raising children that had already seen too much of what this world could bring.
But that was what he was always trying to avoid with you. He wanted you to have a normal life, away from the horrors that haunted Gotham at night.
He wanted to give you the security and peace that the others had never truly settled in. Unfortunately, grief is a constant that would always slip into the equation.
"Did they find her already?" Her voice had a soft yet raspy addition to it due to having stayed in bed all day. It broke Bruce to see that the daughter he tried to hard to shelter had already experienced her first taste of the world's horrific truth.
"Nothing you should be worried about." He ruffled my hair but the gesture came off as rigid and awkward. "I called your school. Told them that you might not be able to attends classes for a couple of days. Is that okay?"
She could only nod as she twisted the fabric of her duvet. Bruce was used to her getting quiet when something happens. But while it often stemmed from sermon or a tantrum, this was her friend. And Bruce knows all too well about how that feels.
"Breakfast is ready downstairs. Alfred made your favorite." He said, getting up and making his way out of her room. "Jason is also downstairs. Best be quick unless you want him eating everything."
"Hey, kid. Saved ya a plate." Jason gestured to a serving of omelette and blueberry muffins while he devoured his own. A small tut left Damian's lips as he shot Jason a disgusted glare. "Have some sense of decorum, will you?"
Jason just flicked a pea to his head before turning to her, ignoring the demon noises in the background. (Name) sat next to Damian, across from Jason. It's been a while since the girl saw him especially since he often operated outside of the family.
She wasn't as close to Jason as she was with her other siblings. She guessed that maybe he didn't like kids. (Name) always thought that Jason was like her father, only more angrier. And she noticed that the air between the two of them was always somewhat tense and awkward.
Maybe something happened years ago before she was born but she doubted anyone would tell her. They were more than content in keeping her clueless.
In the corner of her eyes, she saw Titus sniffing around the hallway, seemingly looking for something. It was similar to how she saw the dogs outside Sweet Corner, somehow always catching certain whiff of scents that pulled them in.
"Dami, what is he doing?"
Damian glanced at her and back to Titus before continuing to eat. "He's searching."
"For what?"
He answered her with a shrug. "Dogs have a strong sense of smell. They're always searching."
The revelation came to somewhat of a shock to her young mind and a series of questions began forming.
"How strong?"
"Strong strong. Dogs can find anything if they can track the scent." It was Jason who answered, his mouth full of muffin.
'Anything?'
An idea popped inside her head and she jumped down from chair and made a beeline towards her bedroom. She pushed the doors with her small limbs and looked around, her eyes landing on her bag. She dumped its insides on her bed and rummaged around.
After a few minutes, she finally found it. A sole green ribbon that didn't belong to her.
"Psst! Titus! Come here, boy!" She cooed at the great Dane, holding a bag of treats in her hands.
The dog appeared from the hallway, his nose sniffing the palm of my hands for a treat. She lets out a small squeak at her hands being covered under saliva before opening her hand full of kibble. While Titus was distracted, she took this chance to grab his leash and led him outside.
Outside the manor, her car wagon waited along with her bag. Titus lets out a bark, as if sensing that whatever she was planning was dangerous. She quickly raised her index finger to her lips, shushing him. (Name) took out the ribbon and held it against his nose.
"Titus, smell. No no no— don't eat it!"
After a few attempts, He started sniffing the ribbon before he started trailing the scent. With a firm grip on his leash, (Name) got on her wagon, letting the dog pull the toy vehicle and lead the way.
In their great adventure, (Name) was pretty sure she'd been spotted by several adults who seemed baffled at the sight of a little girl in a toy car while being pulled by a great dane. She was only grateful that police hasn't seen her yet or else they'd report it to her father.
Afternoon soon settled, the skies more dull and grayish as the wind started to cool. Titus had led her to an isolated field that was nearby the main residential area.
There was a narrow cobblestone road that went on for a short distance while it was surrounded by tall grass. She didn't know that there was a place like this in the city but then again, she guessed that she was still in the outskirts of Gotham. A bark shattered the silence, making her flinch.
"Huh? Did you find her, Titus?" She asked, quickly getting out of her wagon. Titus started walking faster, making her pick up her own pace. He led (Name) to a small opening into the field.
She hesitated. Why would Effy be here? Maybe she escaped and hid here? Before she could take another step down, Titus barked again.
"I'll be fine, Titus. Come on."
But the dog can only whine and stay on the road. She entered the field, her doll shoes getting stained by the muddy dirt. She was already eight steps in when she saw a blue suitcase ahead.
She took another step forward, ignoring Titus' barks. The suitcase became clearer with each step she took. It was already dirtied by the mud and drips of a red substance was leaking out from the suitcase.
"What..?"
Before she could get even closer, she heard someone yelling at her from the road where Titus was.
"Hey, kid! What are you doing?!" The man quickly approached her and carried her out of there. Only when she looked at the man did she recognize him as the police guy her father often talked to. But that wasn't what she was focused on. She was still staring at the suitcase from a distance, a sense of unease sinking down on her stomach.
(Name) sat inside Commissioner Gordon's office, Titus laying down on the floor next to her chair. Gordon was talking to the other police people outside, glancing at her every now and then.
She could only stare at the computer screen where the camera footage of the killer's car at a gas station played—Gordon thought he played a cartoon for her—and she listened to every bang coming from the trunk. She noticed the sounds had a rhythm to it and she grabbed a scrap paper and pen from the desk, jotting it down
'…. . .-.. .--.'
'.--. .-.. . .- … .'
'-. .- -- .'
'Help'
'Please'
'(Name)'
The sound was cut off by the door opening, the Commissioner stepping inside with a somber expression. She didn't look at him. She couldn't. Not with her friend stuck inside a dark, cramped trunk with no one to help her. It took a few minutes for her to realize that he was calling her.
"I'll drive you home. Come on.
The silence in the car was deafening, only being interrupted by the sound of traffic, rain and Titus' sniffing at the back. Gordon looked at her in the corner of his eyes, studying her from the blank look of her face to the muddy soles of her black doll shoes.
"You were looking for your friend."
It was more of a statement of observation rather than a question. (Name) nodded in confirmation, still staring at the rain water dripping down the windshield and the timed movement of the wiper.
"I thought I was close. But my plan didn't work."
He hummed in response, his gaze settling on me fully. "Why do you think that?"
"Because I didn't find her. Now she's probably mad at me."
Something about her words struck him. Not with the hard slap of the reality that he witnessed earlier. But with the poke of guilt of not being able to explain what was happening.
How could you tell a child that the dismembered parts of her friend's corpse was shoved inside a suitcase and abandoned in an empty field? You can't. He turned his focus back to the clearing traffic and started driving again.
"You're a good friend, (Name). No one can be mad at a good friend. She's in a better place now. You don't have to worry."
"How could there be a better place than here together?"
It was a question that he himself had asked. How could there be a better place for a child other than to be with her family and friend? How could a luggage be a better place for someone who didn't do anything wrong but the world punished them anyway?
"..I don't know, kid. But it's easier to believe that rather than face the truth."
'The horrifying truth.'
a/n: here is chapter one! took a long time but I'm glad its out. I really enjoyed writing this chapter and I hope you all did too :D
