#for maybe a day or two until school gets busy again
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Alya ma'am you don't look like a hot topic employee I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to leave the paris special
#ml#miraculous ladybug#ml spoilers#miraculous ladybug spoilers#ml paris special#alya cesaire#why do they always give my girl the best designs#like she deserves it but#art#ml paris#ml paris spoilers#thank you vaporwave alya for breaking me out of my art block briefly and temporarily#i can now return to my natural form: making ml shitposts#for maybe a day or two until school gets busy again#did you guys know i got accepted into grad school#i wrote a paper that can be checked out only of my institution's library#it's cool if you are easily impressed
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
cons of going to a “good schoolTM”: insane workload, unbearable classmates, next to no support when you have any kind of extenuating circumstances Including literal hospitalization, etc
pros of going to a “good schoolTM”: the 9-5 lifestyle is genuinely a major improvement
#taylor.txt#the extenuating circumstances point was not me btw. i know someone who had his degree delayed an entire year because of two weeks in psych#we’re in a co-op program or else maybe it wouldve just been one semester but. lol#i hate it here…i hate it#but hey…at least i have the world’s shittiest health insurance!#some of my classmates say they dont feel like working full-time is easier than going to school full-time but it so is#for me. anyway. even when i fumbled my time management bad on the field and make no mistake i was incredibly busy plus i chose a field#notorious for Unpaid Overtime and Taking Your Work Home. even then. it was still easier than this#i would never do undergrad again. i loved everything i learned. i took interesting and awesome classes#but i would never ever do it again. miserable overworked spent most of it friendless until i got on the field#i have a friend who keeps being like idk how you did 4 physics classes this sem and im like girl we are education students…thats an average#semester for a physics major. how must THEY feel#also i have to say just you know. generally. ive worked full-time while living with my parents#AND while living alone. and 50 hours a week was incredibly manageable in the former arrangement. i even wrote and edited an entire novel#in the beginning stages of a pandemic while working 50 hours a week of retail and fast food hell. 40 hours full-time with weekends off#while living alone though? thats hard. i still managed to go to the gym almost every day#currently? i cant get out of bed in the morning. i am putting in 12 hour days and then goinng to bed unable to sleep because im so stressed#i have dreams about school. tangentially theres a really good marxist poem i read last year about this phenomenon in workers#ANYWAY. i have just 8 more days 4 exams 1 research paper and video project#i think i can pass and then thats it. my next semester is hell but just because scheduling the actual classes will be easy#and then i get to go back on the field and actually want to wake up every day. lol#and 8 days from now i will have my christmas shopping done and my apartment will be clean and i will be a fanfic writing machine#also my friends and i booked a demolition room so im sure that will be beneficial kfldjfldndks
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐓𝐖𝐎-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄.
Zayne x non-mc, angst because that's all i'm good at lol
𝑺𝒚𝒑𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔 : Dating a renowned cardiac surgeon was never meant to be easy—but falling in love with a man who already has a child and a history he never quite let go of? That’s something else entirely. Caught between hospital corridors and family day events, you tries to find your place in Zayne’s world—until one mistake shatters the fragile balance, and you're forced to ask yourself the question that’s haunted you from the start: did you ever meant to belong?

Being a surgeon’s girlfriend is already difficult—but what if your boyfriend also has a child with his ex?
When you first started dating Zayne, he didn’t hide anything. He told you about her—MC—and their daughter, Aurora. You were stunned for two reasons:
One, that Zayne Li, of all people, was dating you.
And two, that he had a child out of wedlock.
Still, you told yourself you could handle it. That you would try.
But no matter how hard you tried to be close to Aurora, she would quietly slip away. No tantrums, no words—just cold avoidance. At first, you told yourself she was only six. She couldn't possibly be hostile, right?
Zayne often brought you along to see her. Said it would help. You played along. Even MC was polite, if a little…off. You told yourself it was nerves���maybe jealousy. Or maybe it was just you, trying to ignore the invisible thread that still seemed to tie her and Zayne together. The shared child. The memories. The easy familiarity.
One evening, while sitting across from Zayne at his house, you hesitated before speaking.
“Zayne… do you think we could go out next Saturday?” your voice was soft, almost reluctant.
He was just returning from work, undoing his coat and sinking into the couch with a tired sigh. “I’m sorry. I have a scheduled surgery that day.”
You nodded, then asked again, a little more hopeful, “Then… how about Sunday?”
Zayne leaned his head back and rubbed a hand down his face. “Aurora has a family day at school on Sunday. She asked me to be there... You understand, right?”
You did. You always did. But this time, something inside you pushed back.
“…But you’re always busy,” you said quietly. “If not at the hospital, you’re with them. What about me?”
“What about you?” Zayne said sharply, straightening. “That’s nonsense. We live together—you see me every day.”
And just like that, the silence cracked into an argument.
But it never lasted long. Zayne, as always, came back to you hours later—apologetic, calm, promising to make it up to you. And he meant it. He always meant it.
So here you were, at Aurora’s school on a cold winter Sunday—Family Day.
Zayne brought you along again. Said it would help. Said it mattered.
You stood on the sidelines, watching him and MC playing with Aurora.
They looked so natural together. Laughing, moving in sync, fitting into the same frame like a picture that had never been taken apart. Aurora was radiant between them. And Zayne… he looked so happy.
They looked like a perfect family.
And you?
You were the stain on the canvas. The outsider in the photograph.
You flinched slightly when you felt a small tug on your sleeve. Aurora stood beside you, looking up and pointing at a nearby ice cream truck.
You blinked, surprised. She’d never approached you before.
“You want that? Okay, let’s get you one,” you said gently, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest. Maybe… just maybe, this was a start.
But the moment shattered in an instant.
Aurora began coughing violently—ice cream falling from her hand, her little fingers clawing at her throat as she struggled to breathe.
Panic consumed you. “Aurora?”
Zayne and MC rushed over immediately. You fumbled for words, heart racing, explaining what happened—but you barely got a sentence out before MC’s face twisted in alarm.
“She’s allergic to dairy!” MC cried, snatching Aurora from your side. Her eyes were wide with fear—and something else. Accusation.
“I— I didn’t know—” you stammered, heart racing. You were shaking. You didn’t know.
“She’s six! You should’ve asked!” she snapped, voice cracking with panic. “I know Aurora doesn’t like you—but you didn’t have to do this! Was it really that bad? That you had to—” Tears welled up in her eyes as people began to gather, murmuring, whispering. Judging.
You turned to Zayne, desperate. “Zayne, I swear—I didn’t know—”
“Shut up, [Reader].”
The words hit you harder than anything else. His voice was sharp. Cold. And worse, disappointed.
Zayne never yelled. Never lost control. And now, he couldn’t even look at you.
He scooped Aurora into his arms, MC following close behind. And without another glance in your direction, they left—getting into his car and driving away.
You stood there, frozen. Surrounded by strangers with pointed eyes and low murmurs.
They didn’t know you. And yet… they were already judging.
And somehow, you didn’t blame them.
Because in that moment, as the wind bit at your skin and your heartbeat rang in your ears—
You knew the truth.
You didn’t belong here.
You never did.
Author's note : comments is very much appreciated! i like reading your comments and also, should i do a part 2? zayne's pov, maybe.
#casxandraꔛ♥️#lads#love and deepspace#lads xavier#lads rafayel#lads sylus#lads zayne#lads caleb#lnds#zayne x reader#zayne x mc#zayne x you#non mc reader#Angst#caleb x mc#xavier x mc#sylus x mc#rafayel x mc
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Insatiable | Mark Grayson x Incubus!Male!Reader
Summary: Mark Grayson dies of jealousy every time his flirty, easygoing, and perpetually exhausted best friend—who he may or may not have a huge crush on—makes out with random guys behind the school. Until the day you confess you’re a half-breed, like him. But not quite like him. Because while he’s half-Viltrumite, you are... half-incubus? Whatever that means… Mark’s more than willing to find out.
Pairing: Mark Grayson x Incubus!Male!Reader
Warnings: 18+, making out, frottage/dry humping, (semi-public?) oral (Mark receiving), anal sex.
Tags: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Fluff, Pining Mark, Mutual Pining, Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.
w.c: 19.7k | a/n: Heeey, it’s been forever!!! DID YOU MISS ME? Because I definitely missed you! I’m really sorry for being so inactive lately. I've been so busy between a nasty case of writer’s block, college stress, and work chaos... yeah, life sucks. Anyway! Here’s a little big treat I managed to squeeze out between bursts of inspiration and writer’s block. As always, English isn’t my first language, so please forgive any mistakes here and there. Hope you enjoy it!
You have a reputation.
You know it. Mark knows it. Hell, probably half the school knows it.
It clings to you like a second skin—whispers in the hallways, smirks in locker rooms, giggles that trail behind you in class. You’re a flirt, and not the harmless kind either.
The kind who’s always leaning just a little too close in crowded hallways, disappearing behind buildings with someone breathless and flushed, only to reappear like they’ve won the lottery. But then a week or two passes, and you’re gone. Slipping out of their lives like it never mattered. Like they never mattered. One minute, you’re all sultry glances and lingering touches. The next, you’re onto the next curious set of eyes across the room.
People talk. Some resent you. And yet, no matter how many times you walk away, there’s always someone new, eager and willing, thinking maybe they’ll be the exception.
And today, Mark sees it happen all over again.
He watches from across the cafeteria as you chat up some guy in line. You’re leaning in close—closer than necessary. Your shoulder brushes his, and your head tilts slightly when you laugh. That slow, lazy grin slides across your lips like it’s effortless. The guy blushes. Of course he does. He leans in without realizing it, like he’s being pulled by a string.
Mark doesn’t even taste the food in his mouth anymore.
He stabs his fork into his tray, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the casual way your hand lingers near the guy’s arm, the light in your expression that no one else ever gets to keep. His stomach knots.
You’re just playing. Again. He knows it. But that doesn’t stop the heat from rising in his chest. Doesn’t stop the slow burn of something he doesn’t want to name.
Then you laugh at something.
The guy laughs back, awkward and eager.
Mark’s knuckles go white around his fork.
“Uh, Mark to Earth?” William says, waving a hand in front of him. “I’ve been talking to you for, like, five minutes.”
Mark blinks, forcing his jaw to unclench. “Huh? Sorry. What?”
William raises an eyebrow, following Mark’s gaze to where you’re now smirking at something the guy said.
“Oh. Y/N again,” William mutters, deadpan. “Shocking.”
Mark’s ears are already burning. He glances down at his tray. “What about him?”
William sighs like he’s had this conversation in his head a hundred times already. “Dude. At least pretend to be subtle. Jealousy isn’t a good look.”
“I’m not—” Mark starts, a little too fast. He swallows hard, tries again with forced calm. “Whatever. It’s just—I’m worried, okay?”
“Oooh, worried. Right. Sure,” William drawls, nodding slowly like he’s humoring a toddler. “Totally not jealous that Y/N’s out there reeling in his next victim while you sit here pouting and crying about it.”
Mark nearly chokes. “What are you even—oh crap, he’s coming back. Shut up.”
He watches, frozen, as you murmur something to the guy before breaking away, walking straight toward them.
Mark jerks his eyes down to his tray, only now noticing the fork in his hand bent clean in half from how tightly he’d been gripping it. He swears under his breath, quickly ducking his hands beneath the table to fix it. He’s midway through smoothing it back into shape when you slide into the seat beside him, smooth as ever.
You sigh, lazy and soft. “Hey, nerds. Sorry I’m late. What’re you gossiping about without me?”
Your head props in your hand, elbow on the table, eyes flicking between them with something like curiosity—but dulled, like even that costs energy.
It’s always a bit of whiplash when you’re around them. The version of you the school knows—the smooth-talking, flirtatious heartbreaker—melts away almost instantly. With them, you’re just you—that quieter, wearier version only your close friends ever get to see. Your posture slouches. The sharp smirk fades into something hazy. Your eyes, once bright and teasing, grow distant.
It’s like watching a performance end the second the curtains close.
Mark watches, fascinated and frustrated in equal measure. He hadn’t been lying earlier—he is worried. Because behind the easy voice and sleepy grin, he sees it—that edge of exhaustion you try so hard to hide. That distracted look in your eyes, like your mind’s always somewhere else.
“Oh, we were just talking about Mark being jeal—ow!” William yelps, his leg jerking under the table.
Mark glares daggers at him, foot still pressed against William’s shin. His look says shut up so loud it might as well be spoken.
You raise a brow at the exchange, unimpressed. Even that tiny expression looks like it takes effort. Still, your gaze stays on William, waiting. “…About Mark being what?”
Mark straightens too fast. “Oh! Uh. Just—just excited! Y’know. About the tour. The Upstate U thing. It’s gonna be… fun.”
William grumbles into his food, refusing to look up. “Super fun.”
Your eyes light up just slightly—just enough to make Mark breathe easier. “Oh yeah! Right. Thanks again, William, for letting us crash your date with that hot pre-med guy.”
“Oh, well, since Mark insisted, how could I possibly say no? I love having my two best friends third- and fourth-wheeling all the time. Makes it so romantic.”
You snort, your posture loosening as you lean back and wink. “Don’t worry, Will. I’ll make sure to drag Mark away the second we get there. I’m not about to cockblock my friends.”
William’s smile turns razor-sharp. “Good. Make sure you keep Mark busy all day. And by all day, I mean all night too. You two are sharing a room—trust me, you don’t wanna know what I’ll be doing in mine.”
“Done,” you reply breezily, nudging your knee against Mark’s under the table without thinking.
Mark jerks like he’s been shocked, spine going stiff as his leg instinctively shifts away. He pointedly ignores the smug look William throws his way.
But of course, William isn’t done.
“So,” he drawls, “what were you talking about with that guy in line? You seemed real into it.”
Mark stiffens, lips pressing into a thin line as he shoots William a warning glare, one William very obviously avoids.
You blink, like the question catches you off guard—like you’d already forgotten about that guy entirely. Then realization sets in, and you wince a little. “Oh—that. I was just… hungry,” you mumble, eyes darting away. “Wanted to cut the line. Said something dumb to distract him, but standing around that long kinda sucked. I got tired.”
“Hungry?” Mark echoes, the irritation draining from his face as concern rushes in to take its place. “You’ve already had, like, four trays. You still hungry?”
You glance at him, giving a half-hearted shrug. “I have a big appetite?” you offer, lips tugging into a weak sort-of-smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
Mark catches it—the pout in your mouth, the barely-there glance toward his tray of food, the subtle tremble in your tone.
He doesn’t hesitate. Quietly, he slides his tray across the table toward you, nudging it close enough to make the offer clear.
Your eyes widen just a bit.
“You can have mine,” Mark says, trying to play it off with a shrug. “I’ve had enough.”
Your face lights up instantly, all exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by a bright smile “Seriously? Dude, thank you! God, I’m starving.”
Without another word, you pick up the fork—Mark’s fork—and dive into the food like you haven’t eaten in days.
Mark tries very hard not to think about how you’re eating off the same fork he used. That it’s kind of like—well, not a kiss. Not really. But also kind of not not one. He’s not five. He knows that. He tells his face that too, willing the heat in his cheeks to die down.
William snorts around a mouthful of his own food. “Jesus, you eat like you never did before. Got a black hole in there or what?”
You snort too, pausing just long enough to swallow. “Feels like it.”
Mark watches you. Watches the way your cheeks puff as you chew, the smooth motion of your throat as you eat, the quick swipe of your tongue across your lips between bites.
He swallows, too.
“Almost like you’re… insatiable,” he murmurs, without thinking.
You pause. Not for long—but enough. Your rhythm falters as you glance back at him, something unreadable in your expression. Like he just struck a chord you weren’t ready for.
It vanishes quickly. You laugh, not quite as bright as before. “Yeah,” you say, chuckling, “feels like it.”
But something’s changed. The words feel heavy now. Like a joke that isn’t really a joke. Like there’s something you want to say, but won’t.
Mark notices. Of course he does.
But, as always, he doesn’t say anything.
Mark never seems to know what to say around you.
So he sits there.
Watching you.
And in his own quiet way, maybe he’s insatiable too.
By the time you all arrive at Upstate U and meet Rick, you make good on your promise to keep Mark out of William’s hair. You wave William off with a cheeky salute and a wink, then drag Mark into your own version of a tour: one that includes skipping the official info sessions, sampling from half the food trucks on campus, and wandering through hidden places neither of you expected to find.
Mark doesn’t complain. In fact, he’s having a good time—a great time, actually.
He’s laughing too much. Smiling too easily. He tries not to notice the way his body jolts when his shoulder always ends up pressed against yours whenever you walk side by side. He tries not to focus on the way his chest swells a little too much every time you laugh at something he says. He really tries to ignore the way his heart picks up every time your eyes catch his and hold, just for a beat too long.
But what Mark can’t ignore—no matter how hard he tries—is the way your breath hitches after walking for too long. The way your pace slows, like your legs are dragging. The way your body leans into him like you don’t even notice you’re doing it—like gravity’s pulled you sideways and he’s the only thing holding you up. The way you keep rubbing your eyes, like you were trying to scrub the exhaustion out of them.
Eventually, Mark can’t pretend anymore.
“Hey,” he says gently, his hand brushing your shoulder to guide you toward the nearest bench. “Let’s sit for a bit.”
You blink, but let him. The second you sit down, your body sinks into the bench like it’s doing half the work your legs can’t anymore.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Peachy,” you mutter, voice low and strained. “Why?”
Mark watches you carefully, his brows pulling together. You’re sweating slightly, and your skin has that drained, almost translucent look to it.
“You’re pale,” he says quietly. “And kind of… out of it. Are you sure you’re okay? We can go back to the dorms. You don’t have to push yourself.”
You don’t answer right away, eyes darting to the ground, breathing shallowly like you’re barely holding it together.
And what Mark doesn’t get—what drives him a little crazy—is why you keep pretending you’re fine.
Especially with him.
“I’m just—” you start, then stop yourself, jaw tightening as you press your lips together in visible frustration “—hungry.”
Your eyes drift past him, unfocused, flicking over the stream of students walking by. You look like you’re scanning them. Assessing.
“I should eat,” you mutter, dazed. “I should… eat something…”
Mark straightens in his seat, alarm rising in his chest. “I can get you something,” he offers quickly, ignoring the fact you’ve already eaten enough for three people today. He just wants to help. “Something sweet. Maybe your blood sugar’s low?”
You look up at him then, and something in your expression knocks the wind out of him. Your brows pinch, eyes cloudy, lips parted like you’re about to cry.
“That’s not enough,” you whisper.
Mark blinks. “What do you mean?”
Then, without hesitation, without shame, you whisper, “I wanna kiss someone.”
Mark freezes.
“What?”
“I need someone,” you repeat, more firmly this time, bracing your hands against the bench like you’re about to stand. “I’ll find someone. Just—stay here, okay? It won’t take more than fifteen minutes.” You push yourself up, but stumble as you take a step forward.
Mark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at you like he doesn’t recognize you for a second.
Kiss someone? Now? You were clearly unwell—too pale, too drained, barely standing—but even now, even like this, you were going to throw yourself at some stranger? After spending the entire day together, after laughing and joking and walking shoulder-to-shoulder like you actually wanted to be around him?
His throat tightens. A bitter coil wraps around his heart, hot and suffocating and impossible to shake. Something ugly rears its head in his chest. A sick twist of frustration and hurt and—
God.
William was right.
Jealousy.
Mark presses his lips together. He doesn’t want to be the kind of guy who gets angry about this.
He’s not entitled to you. He never was.
But that doesn’t stop his hands from curling into fists in his lap, knuckles white.
Because you’re clearly hurting. And you won’t tell him why.
Because you’re pushing yourself toward strangers, toward danger, when he’s right here.
Because, for once, he wants you to pick him.
And you don’t.
Before you can take another shaky step, Mark stands up and grabs your wrist.
“No.”
The word comes out sharper than he means it to—clipped, almost angry.
You stop, turning to him with startled, uneasy eyes. “I’ll be right back, Mark. I swear.”
“No,” he says again, firmer this time, his brow knitting. “You’re about to collapse, Y/N. I’m not letting you go to—what, kiss some random guy just because you’re feeling off?”
You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Look, I get you’re worried, but—”
“No, Y/N,” he cuts in, voice rising, frustration breaking through. “I’ve never judged you for the crap people say about you, alright? Never cared what they whispered in the halls. But this? This is insane. You’re sick, and your solution is to hook up with a stranger? We’ve been here less than a day!”
The next words slip out before he can stop them.
“Can you not act like some hormone-crazed idiot for five minutes and just take care of yourself?”
The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back. But it’s too late.
You go completely still, eyes going wide.
Then, slowly, your expression hardens.
“Hormone-crazed idiot?” you echo, voice low and cutting, disbelief flickering in your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”
“Wait—Y/N, I didn’t mean—”
You tear your hand from his grip, expression stony. It’s like a dam breaks beneath your exhaustion, a spark of rage reigniting the strength that had been fading from you all day.
“What am I then, huh? Just some horny screw-up who can’t go a day without climbing someone? You think this is fun for me? That I like being like this?”
Mark shakes his head, panicked, but not quite understanding the meaning of your words. “No—God, no, that’s not what I meant, it’s just—”
“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone else thinks I’m just some—some fucking slut who can’t keep it in his pants. But you—” Your voice breaks. “I thought you knew me better than that, Mark.”
Mark’s stomach drops. “I do! I swear I—”
Before he can finish, William’s voice cuts through the charged air, calling over the crowd, his arm linked with Rick’s.
“Hey, idiots! Having fun with—oh…” William’s voice trails off, sensing the thick tension between you two. He awkwardly lowers his raised arm. “Hey… is everything okay…?”
Mark barely holds back a groan, cursing himself for the words that slipped out so stupidly. He wants to apologize, to pull you aside, to fix it—
But then a sudden explosion shakes the ground beneath them, a cyborg-looking-monster crawling out of a hole.
What happens next is a blur of instinct and adrenaline. One second he’s Mark Grayson, desperate to take back his words—the next, he’s Invincible, saving his best friends from death.
And when it’s over, when he drags himself back, bruised and breathless, to where William and you are huddled in safety—
William stares at him, whispering under his breath, “Mark…?”
And you—you’re not surprised. Not even angry. You just frown, gaze deliberately avoiding his, eyes unreadable and distant.
It’s in that moment Mark knows he’s screwed up big time.
You don’t speak to him again until later, when the nightmare finally ends—Sinclair in GDA custody, William shaken but safe, and Rick badly wounded but alive.
“Can’t believe Sinclair nearly turned you into one of those things,” William mutters, arms wrapped tightly around Rick.
Mark stands off to the side, awkward and out of place in the fluorescent-lit room. You’ve long since excused yourself, mumbling something about sleeping this fucking day away. The words had been dressed up as a joke, but Mark saw through it—the way your hands trembled as you gripped the doorframe, the deep shadows under your eyes, the sheen of sweat clinging to your pale face.
He remembered the way you leaned on him earlier, how your steps had faltered, how you kept pretending you were okay.
You weren’t.
And now, after everything that’s happened, Mark’s worried sick.
“I’ll…” he starts, voice flat, drained. “I’ll go to bed too. You guys, um… get some rest.”
Rick nods. William does too, but his eyes linger—sharp, knowing, and meaningful. A silent get your shit together.
Mark tries.
The room is dim when he slips in, cold moonlight pooling faintly through the curtains. You’re already curled up on one of the beds, facing the wall. For a moment, he feels crushed because you’re still mad at him.
Moving quietly, he strips out of his clothes with mechanical, resigned motions, slipping into his pajamas—until your voice cuts through the silence.
“Mark?”
He freezes—mid-motion, halfway through tugging his jeans off—heart leaping to his throat.
He turns quickly to face you, finding you sitting up groggily in bed, hair tousled, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
“Y/N,” he breathes, almost stumbling over your name. He’s so relieved to hear you talk to him again, but the guilt crashes in just as fast. “Are you—did I wake you? Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
You shake your head slowly, blinking away the haze. “No. I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”
Mark hesitates by the edge of his bed, torn between giving you space and wanting to inch closer. “Do you… need something?” he asks softly. “Water? Food? Anything?”
You’re quiet for a beat, looking at him in a way that makes his heart clench—like you’re still tired, still hurt, but no longer angry. Just… worn down.
“Nah,” you murmur, voice low. “I’m fine.”
Silence stretches between you.
Mark sits there, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. He hates it—the tension, the awkwardness, the distance, especially when you were having such a good time today. The kind of fun that only happens when you’re with someone you really like.
And Mark likes you.
Probably a lot more than he wanted to admit.
Probably enough to get on his knees and beg if that’s what it would take to fix this. He’s already forming the words in his head, some clumsy apology laced with sincerity, when you speak first.
“So… Invincible, huh?” you mutter, the faintest edge of amusement cutting through your exhaustion.
Mark latches onto the sound of your voice—that tone—like a lifeline.
“Yeah,” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “That’s, uh. That’s me.”
You hum, noncommittal, gaze drifting toward the window. “Were you ever going to tell us?”
Mark’s breath catches. His smile falters. It would be easy to lie. To say yeah, eventually, of course.
But all that comes out is a quiet, “...I don’t know.”
You don’t say anything right away. You just rub at your eyes again, the way you always do when you’re trying to rub away sleep. It sets Mark on edge. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—check your temperature, get you water, make you take something, do something.
But he stays put.
Eventually, you exhale a long, slow breath. “It’s fine. I’m not mad about that.”
That.
Mark winces, the word cutting a little deeper than it should.
And then, finally, it spills out—earnest and clumsy and too fast.
“About—about what I said earlier…” he begins, voice low. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t care what you do—or don’t do—with other people. I swear. I was just… I was just really worried about you. You looked like you were about to pass out, and then hearing you say you wanted to kiss someone—God, I didn’t know what was happening. And I panicked. And I said something shitty. I’m sorry.”
Your expression doesn’t change at first. And Mark waits, his stomach a mess of nerves, the silence dragging sharp between you.
Then you sigh—long and heavy—and finally meet his eyes.
“I know,” you murmur. “God, I know. You don’t understand—can’t understand what—who I am. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you for not knowing. That’s not fair.”
Mark frowns. He doesn’t feel any better—if anything, worse—because it sounds like you’re taking the blame for what he said. And that doesn’t sit right with him.
“What do you mean?” he asks, voice quiet. “I was the one who basically called you a hormonal mess to your face. That’s on me.”
You press your lips together and shake your head. “Yeah, well… I was the one who said I needed to kiss someone right there. Without context, that sounds…” You trail off, flinching, dragging a hand down your face. “I was out of it. I shouldn’t have said it like that, but I was desperate. Still am.”
Mark’s frown deepens, confusion flickering across his face. He opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of what he even wants to ask. But the question lingers in his chest, heavy and jealous and aching.
Desperate? Still?
“You still…” he starts, then hesitates. “Still want to kiss someone?”
You blink at him, startled—but not like he’s wrong. More like you didn’t expect him to say it out loud.
Mark clears his throat, awkward, trying to shove the twist of jealousy in his chest down, his imagination running wild with images of you seeking out someone else’s lips in the dark.
“I… I think I’m gonna need a little more explanation than that,” he says carefully. “Because if this is still about kissing someone, I’m—uh—I’m not following.”
You go quiet for a moment, just looking at him—eyes uncertain, troubled, teeth pressing into your lower lip like you’re holding something in.
And that’s when Mark really sees it.
It’s serious. Whatever this is, it’s eating at you. And suddenly, he’s crossing the room without thinking, settling gently at the edge of your bed like he’s afraid to startle you.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
You look at him, eyes wide and tired, like you haven’t slept in days. And then, with a dry, humorless smile, you shake your head.
“Well,” you whisper, “now that I know you’re Invincible... guess I owe you some truth too.”
Mark’s pulse jumps. “Truth?”
“Call it… an exchange of secrets,” you say, voice quiet, almost shy in a way that makes Mark’s stomach flip.
He leans in without thinking, drawn like gravity. “A secret?” The word comes out breathless. He’d thought he knew everything about you.
You hesitate. Nervousness is written all over you—tense shoulders, twitching fingers, the way you can’t quite sit still. But even so, you meet his eyes, refusing to look away.
“Promise you won’t look at me differently,” you whisper, so quiet he has to lean even closer to hear. “Promise this won’t change anything between us.”
Mark doesn’t hesitate. “I promise.”
Because really—how bad could it be?
You lick your lips, glance down at your hands, still fidgeting in your lap.
“Mark,” you begin slowly, “my family has... a curse. It’s been in our blood for generations. And—” Your hands fist in the sheets. “There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I need you to understand that. This isn’t—it’s not a choice, okay?”
Mark’s brows knit together, already twitching with worry as his mind jumps to every worst-case scenario. He’s heard of curses. He’s seen what they can do. Amanda—Monster Girl—was proof enough that they were never just quirky inconveniences. People suffered under curses. People died because of them.
And the way you’re speaking now—so serious, so insistent, practically pleading—hits something raw inside him and twists.
He nods, quickly, urgently. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I believe you.”
You swallow hard, hands tangled tightly in the bedsheets.
“I’m…” You close your eyes for a moment, like it physically hurts to say it. “I’m not—I’m not fully human, Mark.”
The silence that follows is thick.
Mark’s eyes widen, those words bouncing around his skull, impossible to ignore.
“Part of my bloodline—on my mother’s side—is something else,” you continue, carefully, assessing his reaction with anxious eyes. “We call it a curse, but it’s more like a... condition we inherit.”
Mark listens intently, piecing together the implications, nodding slowly along.
Finally, you exhale shakily, gaze steady but vulnerable.
“I’m part incubus.”
The words hang heavy in the air.
“That’s why I needed to kiss someone earlier,” you admit, fingers twisting in the sheets. Your cheeks burn even in the dim light. “Normal food... it’s not enough. I can eat it, but it doesn’t sustain me. I need—” A shaky exhale. “Arousal. Desire. Intimacy. The energy that comes with it.”
Mark watches as you shrink into yourself, the confession leaving you vulnerable in a way he’s never seen.
“And when I don’t...” You hesitate, then force yourself to go on. “When I go too long without it, my body starts to shut down. You saw it earlier today. That’s what it looks like when I’m starving. I was trying to hide it because I didn’t want—I didn’t want you to know this part of me.”
Mark just stares, stunned—not with disgust or fear, but with a dawning realization. His mind scrambles, trying to make sense of everything. Okay.You’re part incubus. He’s not totally sure what that entails, not really, but he can piece it together. You feed off arousal—off desire. And without it, you get sick. Really sick. Okay. That much he gets.
Then finally, softly, “You’re sick because you’re starving.”
You grimace at that, the words clearly stinging, and glance away. Still, you nod—just barely. A small, exhausted gesture.
“You kiss people to… eat?” he asks slowly. “So back at school—when you were with people—you were feeding?”
You don’t nod this time. You wince instead, tilting your head with an awkward expression.
“Not exactly,” you murmur. “I don’t feed from kisses. That’s not enough. I just…” Your voice dips, suddenly shy. “I just mess around long enough to make people feel... something. Get their arousal going. When things start to, y’know, heat up.”
The second that last phrase escapes your lips, you let out a groan and bury your face in your hands.
“God, I hate saying it out loud. I hate how it sounds. But it’s not like I can turn it off, okay? If I could, I would. Believe me.”
Your voice is muffled behind your palms, frustration and shame coloring every word.
“Hey, hey,” Mark says gently, reaching out to take your hands in his. He pulls them away from your face with soft insistence, making sure you see the sincerity written all over his expression. “I don’t care, okay? This isn’t something you chose. It’s not—it’s not your fault.”
Mark swallows hard, glancing at you again—really looking. You’re still pale. Still swaying a bit where you sit. There are dark, bruised shadows beneath your eyes, and you look one bad night away from collapsing.
“I mean… if you didn’t feed,” Mark says slowly, working through it aloud, “you’d be like this all the time, right? That sounds like it’d really suck. I mean, look at you now. You’re still…”
He trails off, his gaze drifting over you with a worried crease in his brow.
A short, dry huff escapes you. You blink at him, tired and a little amused. “Yeah. It sucks. I could even die.”
You say it so lightly, like it’s no big deal—like you’re joking—and it knocks the breath right out of him.
Mark stares, stunned for a beat, the weight of that sentence finally settling in.
Then he leans forward, closing the space between you, close enough that his breath brushes yours. His hands slide up to your shoulders, firm and grounding as he pulls you gently toward him.
“You could die?” Mark hisses, panic tightening his voice. His fingers dig into your shoulders, eyes wide with fear. “How—how much time do you have left? Why didn’t you tell me? Shit—we should find someone immediately. God, I was the one who stopped you earlier—I’m such an idiot. Oh my god, are you dying?”
“Mark, Mark, breathe,” you say, raising both hands in a placating gesture, a genuine—if tired—smile tugging at your lips. “That only happens in really extreme cases, alright? I’m nowhere near that point. I swear.”
Mark lets out a shaky breath, but his grip on you doesn’t ease.
“Then why not—” He swallows hard, hating the question even as it leaves his lips. “Why not stay with one person? Wouldn’t that be easier than constantly finding new people?”
What he really wants to ask is, Why aren’t you ever serious with anyone? Why not choose someone, stay safe, be safe?
But your eyes drop, the smile fades, and something heavy settles over your expression. You look sad.
Mark hates it instantly.
“Mark…” you murmur, hesitant. “You understand I feed off these people, right? What do you think that means?”
You don’t wait for his answer.
“There’s only so much I can take before they start breaking down,” you say, voice low. “At first it’s subtle—just a little fatigue. But after a week or two, it’s worse. They lose sleep. They get distracted. Their appetite drops. Their energy drains. And I’m not even feeding properly. Just kisses, Mark. Barely enough to keep myself upright, and it already wears them out.”
Mark’s brows knit together, the weight of your words hitting hard, sinking deep.
“And that’s me holding back,” you say, shoulders tense. “That’s me playing it safe. And it’s still not enough.”
You glance at him then, eyes glinting with something close to fear.
“What happens if I stop holding back? What if I lose control? What if I finally taste the real thing—and I can’t stop? I’m scared, Mark. I’m scared I’ll hurt someone. Kill someone.”
The raw honesty in your voice does something to Mark’s pulse. He should be shocked. Maybe even disturbed. But all he feels is an overwhelming pull—an urge to make you feel safe, to ease that pain etched into every word.
“The real thing?” he echoes, voice rough despite already knowing the answer.
You give a dry smile, raising a brow. “Sex, Mark.” Then your gaze drops, and color creeps into your cheeks as you mumble, embarrassed, “I think it’s the only thing that can truly sustain me. Maybe for months, if I’m lucky. But humans are—” You pause, frustration coloring your voice. “Humans are just so... fragile.”
Mark swallows hard, throat dry. He’s still holding onto your shoulders, the heat of your skin seeping through the soft fabric of your t-shirt. He can feel the tremor in your muscles, subtle but undeniable. The shallow rise and fall of your chest. Even now, even after spilling everything—you’re still trying to hold it together.
And he hates it.
Hates that you’re suffering.
Hates that he can’t fix it. Not unless you found someone to—
Found someone—
Someone.
Mark’s breath hitches. His eyes flicker from your face to his hands on you… then back up. The idea hits him like lightning—sudden, bright, impossibly simple and obvious.
His mouth moves before he can stop it.
“Can I help?”
Your head snaps up, eyes widening. “What?”
Mark doesn’t back down. His grip tightens slightly as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re starving. And I’m... here.” A beat. “Let me help.”
The offer hangs between you, trembling in the charged silence.
Mark can feel the heat rising to his face, nerves unraveling beneath his skin. He’s suddenly hyperaware of how close you are—close enough to see the way your pupils swallow the color of your eyes, close enough to feel your breath hitch.
“Mark,” you breathe, stunned. Then you shake your head quickly, like you’re trying to shake the thought loose. “No. That’s—did you not hear what I just said? I don’t wanna hurt you. You could end up dying—”
“I’m not human!” he blurts out, voice rising a little in panic, desperate for you to understand. “I mean—I’m not entirely human, like you. I’m half Viltrumite—that’s why I have these powers. An alien race on my dad’s side and—” He stops, shaking his head hard. That’s not the point. “Anyway! I’m strong. Durable. I heal fast and have insane stamina. I won’t—won’t get hurt if you…”
He trails off, drowning in his own embarrassment. God, he hopes he doesn’t sound desperate—just a friend trying to help. Nothing weird about it. Even if—shit—even if it means kissing you.
Mark nearly chokes on his own spit.
Yeah. Right. Kissing. That’s what he’s offering.
No—it’s more than that.
He feels it land in his stomach, heavy, hot, terrifying.
“If we have... sex,” he finishes, cheeks flaming. But the moment he says it, he feels stupid and awkward, his eyes darting everywhere but yours. “I—I mean, we can try. You feel awful all the time, right? And I’m strong. I can take it��I know I can. Because, you know…” He lets out a nervous, breathless laugh, too fast, too forced. “I’m, uh… I’m Invincible. That’s—ha—that’s me.”
The laugh dies a quiet death in his throat.
He bites his lip, eyes dropping to the floor. Silence settles between you again, thick and suffocating. Mark can hear the pounding of his heart, wild and humiliating, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. God—he sounds so stupid. You probably think he’s being weird. Or desperate. Or both.
Offering to—God. He can’t even say it in his own head without his face going up in flames. But he’s thinking it.
Worse—he’s been thinking it for a while now.
He starts remembering all those times you snuck off after school, slipping behind the gates with someone new, someone who wasn’t him. All those nights Mark lay in bed wondering what you were doing, what it would feel like if you picked him instead.
He remembers how you smiled at him in the middle of crowded hallways—just for a second—and how his heart would stutter in his chest like it forgot how to work. Only for that smile to shift to someone else a moment later, while Mark just stood there, swallowing disappointment like it was a habit.
He remembers how you flop onto his bed whenever you visited, casually thumbing through his comics and calling them lame with a crooked grin, even though you keep reading them anyway just because he likes them.
Your body stretched out in his sheets, your scent lingering in his pillows long after you’ve left. The way your lips tug into a smirk when Seance Dog does something stupid, or how you bite your lower lip when you’re focused, brow twitching every time a plot point annoys you. The way your smile sneaks in, helpless and honest, when you stifle a laugh just to mess with him.
Mark’s thought about kissing you before. Right there, in the quiet of his room, while you were sprawled across his bed, completely at ease. But he never dared.
And now, sitting here in the stillness of this dorm, you only inches away, the thought slips back in.
Mark thinks of kissing you again. Now. But he’s still too shy to try.
Then, soft and amused, you chuckle quietly, breaking the silence.
Mark’s head snaps up, lips already pulling into a nervous pout, bracing for your usual teasing.
But you’re not teasing.
You’re looking at him with something else in your eyes—soft wonder, a kind of startled tenderness, like you’re seeing him clearly for the first time. Your smile is crooked, small. “Invincible, huh.”
Mark swallows thickly and nods. “Invincible.”
A beat.
Then your fingers reach for his collar, curling into the fabric with a tremble he can feel, and Mark’s heart just stops.
“Mark Grayson,” you whisper, half awe, half fear, “do you have any idea what you’re signing up for?”
Mark’s never been more certain about anything.
“I do.”
You smile at him—soft, fond—and for the first time in what feels like forever, the exhaustion in your eyes eases, just a little. Just enough to make Mark’s chest tighten.
Then you tug him closer by the collar of his shirt, and Mark’s breath stutters. Your breath mingles with his—warm, steady, grounding—while his comes out shallow and trembling, lips parted, eyes half-lidded, skin flushed with want.
You’re so close. So unbelievably close. The heat of your lips brushes his, barely there, and Mark leans in without realizing, drawn to you like a magnet.
You inhale deeply, and then let out a soft, pleased hum, one that shudders down his spine.
“You really want it,” you whisper, almost to yourself, voice tinged with wonder. “I can smell it on you.”
Mark doesn’t get the chance to ask what that means—how you can know. Because then your mouth crashes into his, and you groan into the kiss like it’s a relief, like it’s something you’ve needed just as badly.
Mark’s eyes flutter shut, and melts.
It starts slow—tentative. Testing. But Mark sinks into the kiss like he was made for it, hands finding your waist and gripping tight. You sigh into his mouth, lips parting, and Mark doesn’t even think—he just deepens the kiss, tongue brushing yours, hungry and desperate and real.
And the noise you make—
God.
Mark’s never heard anything better.
He presses into you, completely lost in the moment—lost in the feel of your mouth against his. Slowly, your back meets the mattress with a soft thud, and Mark follows, bracing himself on his elbows and palms above you. But neither of you pulls away—not even for a second. The kiss deepens, tongues greedily tangling, hungry for more.
Heat coils low in Mark’s gut. His mind spins, thoughts breaking apart like static. It’s overwhelming—in the best possible way. Your mouth is warm, wet, desperate, kissing him like you want to devour him.
And maybe… maybe you do.
When he finally pulls back, gasping, the sight of you steals what little breath he has left. Color has returned to your cheeks, your eyes bright and focused now, dark with want. The transformation is startling—like watching a wilting flower spring back to life after rain.
Mark swallows thickly. “Better?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You inhale, lips slick and a little swollen. “Better,” you murmur. Then you raise a hand, fingers brushing tenderly along his cheek. “You?”
Mark pauses. He thinks about the warmth simmering in his chest, the way his skin tingles under your touch, how every nerve feels alive. If you’re better, that means it’s working—that you’re feeding off his arousal. Off him. But he doesn’t feel drained. Not really. Just the heady buzz of desire, the thrill of finally having you beneath him. If this is what feeding you feels like, he’d gladly offer himself up again and again.
“Still good,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Really good.”
Your smile lights up the dim space between you as you pull him back down. Mark groans into the kiss, body sinking against yours when your hand slips behind his back and pulls him in. Chest to chest. Hips to hips. The contact burns through his clothes, sending sparks dancing along his nerves.
This is for you, he thinks wildly as his hips jerk forward of their own accord. To make you strong again.
The moan you let out against his lips is downright sinful. Your legs part instinctively, guiding him to slot perfectly between them. “Mark—” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, “are you sure—”
His answer comes in another sharp roll of his hips, drawing a punched-out sound from your throat that goes straight to his cock.
Yes. God, yes.
No words could possibly capture the certainty thrumming through his veins. You seem to understand anyway, arching up to meet his next thrust with a filthy grind that has you both moaning into each other’s mouths.
The heat between you is unbearable now—the drag of fabric against oversensitive skin, the way your hardening lengths press together with each desperate movement. Mark’s never been this hard in his life, every nerve ending alight with the need to give you more, more, more.
“So good,” you slur against his lips, voice thick with pleasure. “Fuck, Mark, so good—”
The words go straight to his core, and Mark’s eyes flutter shut, hips moving faster, chasing that sound, chasing that praise. He wants to hear it again. He wants to earn it. Relishing the way your body trembles beneath him—not from exhaustion now, but from the pleasure he’s giving you.
He can feel it happening; the strength returning to your limbs even as his own energy wanes. It’s not unpleasant—just a deep, satisfying fatigue, like after an intense flight. More than worth it to see color flooding back into your face, to feel your grip on him growing steadier by the second.
So he keeps going, harder, faster, grinding against you like some hopelessly horny teenager.
Turns out the hormone-crazed idiot had been him all along.
“F-Fuck—” Mark chokes out, his voice raw with need, skin flushed and hypersensitive. “Y/N... god, Y/N...”
You moan in response, fingers twisting in his shirt as you drag him closer. The kiss turns messy—all biting lips and clashing teeth, the kind of desperate intensity that leaves you both breathless. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, palms scorching trails across the sweat-slick planes of his back. Mark shudders violently, muscles jumping under your touch.
“Mark—” you gasp, arching up against him, pleasure painting your features. “Mmh, Mark—”
And it hits him.
You’re in the dorms.
William and Rick are probably still very much awake. It’s the middle of the night. And both of you are getting way too loud.
Mark’s face flames with embarrassment.
And when you open your mouth to moan again, he panics—just a little—and presses a hand gently over your mouth to muffle the sound.
Your eyes fly open, dazed and confused, locking with his. And shit—the sight of you like that nearly makes him lose it right then and there.
“Shh,” Mark whispers, breath ragged, forehead pressing against yours. “They’ll hear us.”
You go still for a beat, eyes flicking to the door like you’ve only just remembered where you are. Then you nod slowly, locking eyes with him again.
Mark gives a shallow thrust, still holding his palm over your mouth, just in case. This time, with your lips no longer fused together, his eyes remain open—watching every microexpression of pleasure that crosses your face. The way your pupils blow wider with each thrust. The tension building in your jaw. Most striking of all—the life flooding back into your exhausted features as you meet him halfway.
The silent exchange is somehow more intense than the noises you’d been making before. Mark reads every hitched breath in the flutter of your lashes, every spike of pleasure in the way your fingers dig into his back.
The room is filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, the faint creak of the old bed, and the rustle of tangled sheets. Your gazes lock, dark and searching and hungry. And god, god, Mark has never felt anything like this.
There’s a thrill buzzing down his spine, a flutter in his chest that’s got nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with you. His heart pounds wildly, not just from exhaustion, but from pure, surging adrenaline—pumping heat into every vein, every muscle.
His muscles twitch and flex instinctively from the sheer pleasure wracking his body. His breath catches and his cock aches, hard and leaking into his boxers, needier than it’s ever been.
Mark wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.
The heat coils inside him, slow and molten, building pressure with every thrust and grind of your hips against his. Your eyes never leave him, and it wrecks him. That look—like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. The way you’re giving yourself to him, trusting him, wanting him.
Wanting him.
You want him.
The realization hits like lightning, and Mark’s whole body reacts—hips grinding harder, cock pulsing desperately, breath coming fast and uneven as the world narrows to nothing but you. His brain short-circuits, every rational thought evaporating under the weight of that need.
Then your hand slips down.
Past his waistband.
Fingers wrap around his cock, warm and sure and so willing.
Mark chokes on a breath, buries his face in the crook of your neck just as you stroke him—once, twice.
And that’s all it takes.
His whole body shudders violently as he comes, hard, gasping into your skin, cock pulsing in your hand, spilling over your fingers with a soundless cry. His hips jerk helplessly as you milk every last drop from him, until he collapses against you, sensitive and spent.
His breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, thighs twitching, mind blissfully blank. The exhaustion hits him like a wave—a deep, satisfying lethargy that weighs down his limbs, his eyelids fluttering as he fights to stay awake.
“You okay?” you murmur, voice rough, fingers still lazily stroking his oversensitive flesh. Mark shudders, biting back a whimper, and instead sinks his teeth into your shoulder—not hard, just enough to ground himself. “Mark?”
“I’m fine…” he slurs, voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. “God, I’m so fucking fine.”
You chuckle, low and warm, but your grip tightens again, just for a second—just enough to have him whining, squirming, his spent cock twitching pathetically in your hold before you finally relent.
Mark forces himself up on shaking arms, giving you space to breathe. But in that exact moment, as your hand slips free of his boxers—fingers glistening with his release—he sees something that nearly undoes him all over again.
With zero hesitation, you bring those cum-slick fingers to your mouth—and lick them clean.
Mark’s brain short-circuits.
His mouth goes dry as he watches your tongue flick out, slow and deliberate, catching every drop like it’s something precious, your eyes locked on his the entire time—daring him to look away.
“Shit—” Mark chokes, his spent body throbbing weakly at the sight. “Y/N—”
You hum, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the taste, lips curling into a sinful little smirk.
Mark swears under his breath, his energy draining further, vision blurring at the edges—but even now, even exhausted, he can’t tear his gaze away.
And all Mark can think is he did that.
He made you feel alright.
He gave you strength again.
Because you’re glowing—god, you’re glowing.
“Y/N…” he breathes, voice trembling. “Are you—are you feeling okay now?”
You hum contentedly, licking the last traces of cum from your fingers with a satisfied sigh. “Never been better.”
Mark’s answering smile is drowsy but genuine. “Good. That’s... good.” His eyelids flutter despite his best efforts to keep them open.
“Mark?” you ask gently, sensing the shift in his body—how it droops, how his muscles go slack.
He blinks at you, slow and owlish, trying to hum an answer. He’s fighting it—desperately trying to stay awake, to prove to you that he’s okay. That you don’t have to worry. That he’s strong enough to do it again, whenever you need it.
But he can’t.
It’s like trying to fight anesthesia—his consciousness slipping despite his will, soft and slow and inevitable.
To his surprise, you don’t panic. Instead, a tender smirk curves your lips as you guide his swaying body off of you, helping him roll onto his side so he lands beside you instead of collapsing on top. You tug the sheets over both of you with a quiet, satisfied sigh, then curl around him, limbs tangling comfortably with his.
Mark still has just enough strength to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you in return.
The very last thing he feels is the soft brush of your lips at the corner of his mouth.
And then, everything fades.
Since that night, nothing’s happened between you again.
The very next morning, you thanked him with a soft kiss to his cheek, all warm affection and casual ease. You seemed energized, almost thriving, while Mark woke up feeling sluggish and tired—though nothing serious enough to make either of you worry.
You even laughed when you noticed how drained he was. “If I tried that with a regular human,” you said thoughtfully, “they’d probably drop into a small coma, I think.”
So… yeah. Mark had to admit, his Viltrumite heritage did come with some perks beyond just strength.
And for a while, you were fine. More than fine.
Mark watched you through the days, then weeks—half expecting you to suddenly corner a random classmate and start making out with them just to feed again. But you didn’t. Not once.
Which probably had something to do with the fact that you’d… well. Eaten his cum. You mentioned it offhandedly once, saying it gave you an “energetic bonus,” like it was a protein shake or something. And Mark—Mark thought about that for hours. Days, maybe.
He’d let you do it again in a heartbeat. Every day, if you asked. At any time. Anywhere.
And that’s the problem.
You haven’t asked.
Apparently, whatever you got out of him that night was enough to keep you going for weeks. Which is honestly impressive, considering the two of you didn’t even have full-on sex. You just… grinded against each other and you gave the world’s shortest handjob—and he still passed out immediately after like some overwhelmed virgin.
Because, well, he was overwhelmed.
Mark tells himself he needs to work on his stamina. He can’t let that happen again—not if he wants to actually get to the next phase with you. Not if he wants to please you, the way you made him feel that night.
But it’s also true—you were starving back then. Maybe you pulled more from him than you usually would. Maybe the lust, the arousal, the craving he felt for you gave you a bigger energy hit than either of you realized.
Whatever the reason, ever since he tasted your lips, Mark’s been a mess.
The memory of your mouth on his, your body moving against his—it’s been looping in his head, like some kind of self-inflicted torture. Every brush of your shoulder in the hallway sends sparks racing down his spine. Every laugh, every look, every accidental touch leaves him dizzy and desperate.
But no matter how much he’s burning for it, you haven’t brought it up again.
And it’s driving him insane.
Until today.
Today, everything crashes in on him at once—final exams before graduation, the pressure of saving the world, the delicate balancing act of being both Mark Grayson and Invincible. And on top of it all, the world is still feeling the aftermath of his dad’s betrayal—cities still recovering and people still mourning.
Nobody’s surprised that he’s been... off lately. Tense. Angry all the time.
And today, today, he needs to forget. He needs to focus, needs to scrape his mind back together and make it through these tests. Needs to at least try to get into that stupid university where, in some far-off dream, he’d get to kiss you for the first time all over again.
So it happens that morning.
You’re standing by your open locker, flipping through your notes with a nervous sort of energy—brows furrowed, lips pressed together, eyes flicking over the pages like you’re trying to memorize your way out of a breakdown.
Mark drags himself to the locker beside yours, slow and heavy, his limbs weighed down by too many thoughts—things he doesn’t want to forget and things he wishes he couldn’t remember.
Then, his gaze flickers—unconsciously, inevitably—toward you.
Mark sees the pinch in your brows, the way your eyes dart over your notes, how your foot taps restlessly against the tile floor. You’re clearly stressed, just like him. But that’s not what gets him.
What always gets him—every damn day, at every damn hour—is your mouth. The shape of your lips. The way your tongue sneaks out to wet them. The soft pink-red shade. The memory of how they felt, how warm they were, how much he wants to kiss them again.
And again.
And again.
“Mark?” you ask suddenly, voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts.
He flinches, eyes snapping up from your lips to your eyes.
“Y-yeah?” he stammers, cheeks flaring with heat.
You stare at him for a beat too long—head tilted slightly, brow raised, eyes scanning his face with something unreadable. Then, your nose flares subtly, like you just smelled something... good.
But instead of saying anything, you just shrug and turn back to your locker.
“Man, these exams got me super stressed out,” you say, casually, as if you hadn’t just caught him staring like a lovesick fool. “I just want school to be over already.”
Mark exhales, trying to ground himself, shoving thoughts of your lips out of his head. Focus. Focus on the tests. On anything else.
He forces a grin. “Tell me about it. I’ve been studying and dreaming about studying. Like—actual nightmares about textbooks chasing me. It’s the worst.”
You huff, amused, tossing the last of your things into your locker before checking the time on your phone.
“We still have time,” you say simply.
Mark grabs a single book and looks at you, hopeful. “Wanna keep studying?”
But you snatch the book from his hand and shove it back into his locker, slamming the door shut. Mark blinks, wide-eyed, and barely has time to react before you step in—closer than close—close enough for your breath to ghost against his ear.
Mark goes completely still.
“Don’t you wanna do something else?” you whisper, voice a low, teasing purr that sends a sharp shiver down his spine. “Like… come with me behind the school. Just us. I can help you unwind. And, y’know…”
Your fingers trail down his chest slowly, making Mark swallow hard, until your hand finds his wrist and wraps around it, firm and sure.
“…I’m feeling kind of hungry.”
You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes gleaming with mischief, a small smirk tugging at your lips like you already know the answer.
And you do.
Mark, predictably, nods dumbly, heart hammering against his ribs.
Your smirk deepens, and without missing a beat, you spin around and tug him along by the wrist. Mark follows—half dazed, half panicked—as you lead him somewhere behind the buildings, wherever it is you always take people when you’re like this.
His face burns, pulse racing—not just from anticipation, but from the very public nature of this. People glance your way, eyes trailing from your linked hands to Mark’s flushed face, some raising their brows knowingly.
Because you have a reputation.
And when you disappear behind buildings with someone flushed and breathless, it only ever means one thing.
And Mark’s flushed and breathless, alright—practically being dragged to that one secluded spot you always claim for yourself.
Is this... is this what it is? What he is? Just your new hookup to mess around with?
No—no. Because unlike the others before him, Mark’s your best friend.
You wouldn’t just discard him. Right?
Besides, Mark’s stronger. Better. He can handle you feeding on him, handle the drain, handle you. He’s not like the rest. He offered. He wanted this.
You chose him.
That’s what he tells himself when you shove him gently against the cold concrete wall behind the school, shadows swallowing you both whole.
You smile at him—soft, sweet—before leaning in and kissing him.
And god, that’s exactly what he’s been craving since the first time.
Mark melts, instantly, like wax under your touch, his arms sliding around your waist to pull you closer. You fit against him like you’re made for it. Your mouth, your kiss, your tongue—everything syncs with his like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times before. Like it’s natural.
Yet, a treacherous part of Mark’s mind—still conscious, still worried—whispers that maybe all the others you’ve kissed against these very same walls thought the exact same thing. That they were special. That they could handle you.
Only for you to leave them two weeks later when they couldn’t keep up.
And now Mark’s heart pounds, not with lust—but fear.
He has to hold it together. Has to prove himself.
He doesn’t want to be another body you use and then forget. Doesn’t want to be weak—doesn’t want to collapse every time you touch him.
He wants to be the one you keep coming back to.
And then—
Then your hands move down, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his jeans.
And Mark completely loses it.
He tears away from your mouth with a breathy gasp, eyes wide, voice ragged. “Y/N?”
You pause, blinking at him, fingers still lightly tugging at his belt. Your expression softens—almost embarrassed.
“Is this okay?” you ask, voice quiet. “I wanted to… suck you off. But I don’t know if—”
You stop yourself, shaking your head like you’re mad for even thinking it. Your fingers begin to retreat, pulling away from his jeans.
“Forget it,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “We have exams. You’re already tired. I don’t want to make you worse if I—ugh. Stupid of me. Kisses are fine.”
You lean in again, lips parted, ready to claim his mouth like before—but this time, Mark stops you.
Because the moment the words suck you off left your lips, he stopped hearing anything else.
“You can,” Mark rasps, voice thick. “I want you to. I can take it.”
You pause—eyes searching his face, unsure for just a second. But then your nose flares again, catching his scent, and you close your eyes like it’s the best thing you’ve ever breathed in.
“Fine,” you murmur, voice thick and hazy. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”
Mark nods—more a reflex than a conscious answer—because he couldn’t form real words even if he tried.
And then, with aching slowness, you sink to your knees in front of him. Your hands move to the waistband of his jeans, careful and deliberate as you tug them down, freeing his straining cock from his underwear.
Mark’s hands instinctively fly back, palms splayed flat against the wall as his knees buckle slightly. He needs the support, because if he doesn’t hold himself up, he’s sure he’ll collapse the moment your mouth touches him.
Your eyes flick up at him, half-lidded and glassy with heat. Then you reach forward and wrap your hot fingers around his cock.
Mark yelps, his whole body jolting, cheeks burning red from the base of his throat to the tips of his ears.
“Y/N—” his voice cracks embarrassingly as his cock twitches in your grip. This can’t be real. This can’t actually be happening.
You hum approvingly, pumping him slowly once, twice, watching with rapt fascination as a bead of precum wells up at his tip.
“Already so hard for me,” you muse, thumb swiping through the moisture.
The casual observation makes Mark’s head thud back against the wall, a quiet, mortified groan leaving him.
But whatever embarrassment he feels is drowned out by the overwhelming flood of arousal, lust, and whatever else it is you feed on coursing through him.
You probably enjoy it—how easily he falls apart for you, how effortlessly his body responds, like you don’t even have to work for it.
You probably love it. Because then you lean in, face close to his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you inhale deeply—drawing in the raw scent of his arousal straight from the source, your warm breath ghosting over the flushed, sensitive tip.
“Fuck,” you whisper, pupils blown wide. “You smell perfect.”
Mark doesn’t have the brain to process what that even means, not when the question gets stuck in his throat and dissolves the second your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock.
A choked groan tears from his chest as you start to lick, slow and deliberate, savoring the precum with deep, focused sucks. His knees buckle slightly, and he squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to focus on anything other than the maddening heat of your mouth.
But it’s impossible.
You’re shameless—licking and sucking him like this is just natural for you, like it’s not embarrassing at all the way it’s mortifying for him. Your tongue moves up and down his shaft in wet, lazy strokes, then circles the head with practiced ease before you suck again, harder this time.
You groan, low and satisfied, and the vibration shoots straight through him.
Mark shudders, his hips jerking slightly, and helpless little sounds tumble out of his mouth before he can even think to swallow them down. And then—shit—then your mouth opens wider, lips stretching, tongue curling, and you take more of him in. Inch by inch, hot and wet, deeper and deeper.
Mark nearly loses it right there.
His back slams harder into the wall, his fists curling uselessly at his sides as he fights the urge to completely fall apart. But it’s not because you’re draining him—not yet, at least—it’s because it’s you.
Y/N. His best friend. The guy he’s been crushing on for way too long. On your knees behind the school, mouth full of him like it’s nothing, like it’s something you want.
It’s insane. He’s insane.
Shit—shit.
Mark dares to glance down, eyes wide and glassy with stunned pleasure, needing to see it to believe it.
And the sight nearly breaks him.
You, between his legs, hands steady on his hips, eyes half-lidded with hunger and focus. Your lips, stretched wide and glistening, moving up and down his cock with obscene wet sounds. His shaft gleams with spit and precum, slick and throbbing, disappearing and reappearing between your lips.
He moans again, soft and wrecked, unable to look away.
Meanwhile, you’re letting out soft, muffled sounds around the thick length stuffed in your mouth—like you really like it. Like you’re losing yourself in the sensation of having Mark buried so deep, your mouth full of him, nose flaring with every push of his hips. The wet, obscene noises echo in the tight space, and your brows furrow—not from discomfort, but something heady, something near-blissful.
It’s like pleasure for you. Something Mark can’t fully grasp, not when you feed off this—feed off him—like this is more than just sex, like it’s sustenance.
Then, on a particularly sharp thrust—Mark can’t help it, his hips moving on instinct—his tip hits the back of your throat.
You gag softly, breath hitching, teary eyes snapping open, glassy and dazed.
Mark curses under his breath, panicked, already pulling back, the apology forming fast on his lips—
But then you moan.
Loudly. Lewdly. Fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back in.
Mark nearly collapses.
“Oh—oh god—” he chokes out, his grip on the wall slipping as his thighs tense.
You don’t stop—don’t even slow down. You just suck harder, deeper, hungrier. Mark can feel the heat of your mouth wrapped around every inch of him, and it’s too much—it’s so much.
“Y/N,” he gasps, “God—I’m gonna—”
But you don’t let go. If anything, your pace quickens, mouth working him with precision and purpose. Mark’s knees shake, buckling slightly, and he nearly traps your head between his trembling thighs without meaning to.
“Y/N—fuck, I’m so—so close!”
You hum again, low and satisfied, like that’s exactly what you wanted to hear. Like his desperate moans and breathless whines are feeding you, pouring that raw energy straight into your core. And you take it, eyes fluttered shut in bliss, like this is your version of heaven.
“Y/N—” Mark gasps, a final, desperate warning.
But you don’t stop. Fierce and hungry, you take him in again—once.
Twice.
And that’s all it takes.
Mark comes with a deep, guttural groan, his head thrown back against the wall, hips jerking forward to bury himself to the hilt in the wet heat of your mouth. Hot, bitter release spills from him in thick pulses, straight down your throat—and you gulp it down without hesitation, moaning like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.
The sounds you make—hungry, pleased, possessive—echo in the tight space, and Mark’s entire body trembles under the weight of it all.
His thighs shake violently, straining from the effort to stay standing. His vision flickers at the edges, a burst of white noise flashing across his mind. He’s faintly aware of the wall at his back, of the air that won’t quite fill his lungs, and the overwhelming, foggy pleasure that steals every coherent thought.
He’s fine. He tells himself that. He has to be.
Because he wants to prove he’s stronger than the others. That he can take it. That he can give and keep giving if that’s what you need.
Even as the lightness threatens to pull him under.
But just as his cock begins to soften, your mouth stays—closes tight around the tip, fingers curling around the base where your lips can’t reach. You start stroking again, firm and insistent, while your tongue circles his oversensitive head.
You’re milking him. Ruthlessly. Determined to get every last drop.
Mark jerks with a sharp cry, the overstimulation sending electricity through his nerves. His hands claw at the wall, legs quaking uncontrollably.
“Y/N—” he breathes, voice high and wrecked, “Jesus Christ, that’s—! I—I can’t—!”
And finally, finally, you stop.
You pull off him with a soft gasp, your breath hot and ragged. His cock slips free, flushed and twitching, coated in your spit and what’s left of his release.
You lick your lips lazily, and smile. That same satisfied, gleaming smile that tells Mark you got exactly what you wanted.
Slowly, you rise to your feet, flushed and glowing—energized in a way that almost radiates off your skin—while Mark’s left trembling, still caught in the aftershocks of his high.
“My god, Mark,” you huff a breathless laugh, eyes sparkling. “That was—I’ve never felt anything so—” You cut yourself off when you finally take in his state—the sweat beading at his temples, the way his chest heaves. Concern flickers across your face. “You good?”
Mark immediately shakes his head, trying to clear the static clouding his thoughts. “M’fine... I’m just—overwhelmed,” he admits, voice hoarse but honest.
You pause, frown flickering briefly across your lips as you glance him over more carefully. He’s pale. Wobbly. Still fighting to steady his breath. A pang of guilt twists in your chest—maybe you took too much. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he’s going to drop right here and hit the damn pavement.
But Mark, breathless and clearly drained but stubbornly determined to prove a point, straightens off the wall on shaky legs.
“I’m fine,” he says again, firmer this time. “Really. That was—” he exhales deeply, a dazed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “that was so good.”
Your face lights up again, the concern replaced by a beaming grin. “Damn right it was! Mark, you taste amazing. I’ve never tasted so much—fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever get to have that much cum,” you ramble, fast and thrilled, practically buzzing with glee. “It energizes me so much, like—Jesus, I could live off you... Do you need help with that?”
You gesture toward his pants, still hanging open. Mark blinks, dazed and stunned by your casually filthy words, but still gives a small nod.
You hum, pleased, as you crouch slightly to tug his jeans back up, fingers moving with practiced care. You even take your sweet time buckling his belt again, still grinning to yourself like this is the best thing that’s happened all week.
Meanwhile, Mark struggles to steady his breathing, eyes half-lidded as he watches your every movement. He savors the careful way you straighten his clothes, tugging his shirt down gently before reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his damp forehead.
His breath catches when your palm lingers against his cheek.
“You okay?” you ask again, softly, trying to sound serious—but the buzz of energy beneath your skin, the high of feeding, makes your voice a little too bright.
Mark smiles, slow and fond. “Amazing.”
“You’re not, like… out of it, are you?” you press, brows furrowed. “Still with me?”
He lifts his hand to cover yours, holding it against his cheek as he leans into your touch like he never wants you to let go.
“I’m fine,” he murmurs. “Better than fine. I actually feel…” He trails off, searching for the right words. There’s some drowsiness, sure, but it’s the good kind. “Relaxed. Like—really relaxed. Not anxious anymore.”
Your smirk is immediate, the faintest blush touching your cheeks. You look so alive—flushed and glowing, like the fatigue Mark had always assumed was your default had never really belonged to you. For months, he thought you were just… exhausted all the time. Turns out, you were starving.
“Good,” you say, lacing your fingers through his. The contact sends a fresh spark along Mark’s nerves. “Come on—we’ve still got time to meet up with William, Eve, and Amber. We can cram together before the test.”
Mark stumbles after you, legs still shaky, cheeks still burning, head still in a haze—but for entirely new reasons. The memory of your mouth on him lingers like a brand, and the knowledge that he alone can sustain you without breaking sends a possessive thrill through his veins.
He’ll be ready whenever you need him again.
When you need him again, Mark’s in the middle of arranging his things at the Upstate U dorms.
He’s been trying not to sulk about the dorm assignments. Really. It’s fine that you’re rooming with some random guy instead of him. Totally fine. And hey, it’s not all bad. He’s rooming with William, and you’re only three doors down.
However, when he’s strolling back with his Seance Dog action figure on hand, he spots it—the damn sock on the doorknob. The one William had declared as their “do not disturb” signal. Mark freezes, then groans loudly enough that a passing freshman gives him a weirded out stare.
Rolling his eyes, Mark turns on his heel and makes a beeline for your door instead. No knock. No warning. He just pushes it open like it’s a completely normal thing to do.
You’re in the middle of unpacking, back to the door, bent slightly as you shove clothes into your half of the closet.
“William’s having sex,” Mark grumbles as his greeting, shutting the door behind him.
You let out a startled laugh, glancing over your shoulder. “Already? It’s literally the first day of college.”
“Right?!” Mark perks up, pointing at you like he’s just been seen. “I was thinking the exact same thing! Who even has sex on the first day of college? I haven’t even finished unpacking.”
You snort again, amused, and turn back to your stuff. “Sucks for you,” you say with a teasing smirk. “But since you’re here, wanna help me put my stuff away?”
Mark’s shoulders sag dramatically as his eyes sweep over the room—half-open boxes everywhere, clothes spilling out, chaos even worse than his own side of the dorm. “Aw, man.”
“You chose to come here, Mark,” you say with a grin, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, pulling him toward the mountain of chaos you call your stuff. “Now suffer the consequences.”
Mark lets out a dramatic sigh as he lets you tug him along, but his protests are half-hearted at best. He grumbles the entire time—loudly and performatively—but never actually stops helping. He jokes through it, snickers when he finds weird stuff in your boxes, and keeps rearranging things the way he thinks they should go, just to mess with you.
He doesn’t really mind. In fact, Mark loves it—being near you, touching your things, asking dumb questions just to hear you talk. Every little trinket you pull out is a new excuse to stay a little longer.
By the time the bed is made, your desk is mostly arranged, and the floor is walkable again, Mark flops down face-first onto your mattress with a dramatic sigh. He rolls over onto his back, one arm slung lazily across his chest, and watches you fiddle with the last few decorations on your desk.
“What’s up with that thing?” he asks, nodding at a pretty trinket you’re setting in the corner. “Looks ancient.”
You glance over your shoulder, then shrug. “Oh, this? Just a stupid family relic. Supposed to bring me good luck or something.”
Mark pushes himself up on one elbow. “Family relic?”
“Yeah!” you nod brightly—then pause, eyes flicking to him with a slightly sheepish look. “Y’know. That side of the family, if you get me.”
That perks Mark right up. You rarely mention your incubus lineage, let alone the mysterious relatives who share it.
“Does it actually work?” he asks, genuinely intrigued. “The luck thing, I mean.”
You chuckle, fingers brushing over the trinket. “Sure it works.”
Mark straightens completely, eyes wide and full of wonder. “Really? How?”
You turn to him slowly, expression softening into something warm and deeply fond. Then you rise from the chair, walk over, and drop down beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. You don’t say anything at first, just smile as your hand reaches up, tenderly cradling his cheek.
Mark’s breath catches.
“Well,” you murmur, thumb brushing lightly over his skin, “I met you, didn’t I.”
And Mark’s heart just—melts. There’s no other word for it. It swells in his chest and bursts behind his ribs like a supernova, a rush of feelings he doesn’t bother to hide.
Then he leans into your touch without thinking, eyes fluttering for half a second. “It must work both ways, then,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
You laugh gently—and god, he loves that sound. It lights up your whole face. There’s something about it, that laugh, that smile, like it always bubbles out of you before you can stop it. Like you can’t help but be happy in his presence.
Mark watches you, eyes soft, his heart thudding like it’s trying to tell him something—like this is the moment. His hand is a little clammy against the blanket. He’s thinking about kissing you. Really kissing you.
But he doesn’t.
Because the truth is, aside from those two times you fed off him, you never actually kissed. Not once. And not because you didn’t want to—but because if you weren’t hungry, if there was no need to satiate that part of you, neither of you ever crossed that line.
Still, you liked touching him. You liked brushing shoulders when you walked together. Liked laying your head on his shoulder during long movies. When you visited his house, you liked sneaking into his bed just to nap together—curled into him like you belonged there.
Mark misses your lips. But if you weren’t hungry—if you didn’t have to feed—then both of you stayed in your safe little bubble.
Would it be weird if Mark kissed you right now?
Would you think he’s being a weird friend?
Mark doesn’t know where the two of you stand. Yeah—you’ve grinded against each other, you’ve sucked him off behind the school. But what did it mean? Just a way for you to feed yourself? Or did it mean more?
Did he mean more?
Mark can’t tell. Isn’t sure.
But when you look at him like this—all soft eyes, quiet smiles, that unshakable tenderness lighting up your whole face—Mark lets himself wonder. Can he believe for even a second that you feel the same way he does?
Can he kiss you?
“You can,” you whisper, soft as a secret.
Mark freezes.
Eyes widen just a little in surprise. For a moment, he thinks maybe you read his mind—but then he realizes…
He said that out loud.
And you said yes.
“…Really?” he asks, heart in his throat.
You laugh, soft and fond, thumb brushing along his jaw. With the same hand still cradling his face, you guide him closer, slowly, until your lips almost touch. “Really.”
Mark closes the distance.
He kisses you.
Not like before. Not the frantic, life-sustaining kisses you’d taken from him. This is something softer. Something given.
His heart races, hand rising to cup the curve of your cheek, thumb brushing your skin as he closes his eyes, savoring the softness, the warmth, trying to burn the sensation into his memory, into his very flesh.
You sigh softly, lips parting slowly as you deepen the kiss. Mark holds back a groan, turning it into a breathy gasp instead, his tongue meeting yours with a shy hesitation. He tastes the faint hint of chocolate from the snack you’d eaten earlier while taking a break from unpacking. Unable to resist, he gently sucks on your tongue, and you shudder against him, a soft moan slipping free.
God, Mark loved it. Loves it. Couldn’t get enough. Wanted this—wanted you—forever.
He tilts his head, deepening the kiss further, teeth catching on your bottom lip in a playful bite. One hand sneaks around your lower back, pulling you closer—
Then someone knocks on the door.
You freeze against each other, lips still brushing as you pull apart just enough to share a wide-eyed look. Your cheeks are flushed, your breathing uneven—beautiful, Mark thinks, already mourning the loss.
“Probably my roommate,” you murmur, catching your breath as the knocking comes again. “I’ll check.”
Mark pouts, reluctant to let go, but quickly squares his jaw and puts on his best tough-guy face. If this is your roommate, then he’s definitely marking his territory. No one’s stealing his best friend.
You give him a faint, sheepish smile when he slides a protective arm around your waist, and then you reach for the door handle.
But the second it swings open, you both freeze again.
Right there, in the hallway, is fucking Seance Dog in the flesh.
Mark reacts immediately, stepping between you and the bizarre cloaked figure before him, grabbing its body. “Who the hell are you—?”
The creature—Seance Dog—launches into a rambling explanation, but Mark barely registers it. His attention is locked on the hallway beyond the open door, where students pass by, oblivious.
You spin on your heel, eyes wide, rushing to the window. “Go! I’ll find backup!”
Turns out “backup” is William, who stumbles after you through the wooded edge of campus, half out of breath and half-convinced this is some elaborate prank, while you yell, “Yes, the Seance Dog! No, I don’t mean cosplay!”
When you both catch up, Mark is standing in a clearing, arms crossed, face tight with frustration. Mark turns when he hears your voice and immediately starts explaining—Thraxa, billions of people in danger, yada, yada. It’s all so sudden, and he watches you both closely as the explanation sinks in.
William nods along, immediately agreeing. “Dude, you have to go. We’re talking, what, forty-two billion lives?”
Mark flinches, glancing toward you, searching your expression. You haven’t said anything yet. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
You finally speak. “For—for how long again?”
Mark hesitates, his heart thumping. “Just—just a few weeks. Give or take.” He turns to the bug alien. “Right? A few galaxies away?”
The bug alien nods solemnly.
Mark looks at you again, eyes quietly pleading. He wants you to say no. He hasn’t even had his first class yet. You kissed, for real, for the first time not even an hour ago, and now he’s supposed to just…leave?
If you said no, he wouldn’t go. Not for anything.
You fold your arms, brow furrowed in deep thought. “I mean… if we’re talking about that many people… and he came from so far just for you, then…”
You trail off.
Mark’s heart sinks. He wants to help, really—but he also wants to stay. Wants to start this new chapter with you, complain about professors together, compare how bad the cafeteria food is, sit next to you in class and whisper jokes under his breath just to make you snort.
And—and he hadn’t even fed you properly. Not really. Not the way you needed. Not the way he wanted to.
But then your eyes meet his again, steady and sure despite the tightness in your jaw, and you nod. “…Then I guess you should go.”
And that’s it.
He suits up. The blue and yellow slide over his body like second skin, and Nuolzot is already gesturing toward the sky, to the ship hovering in low orbit.
But Mark pauses. He turns back to you. In two steps, he’s standing in front of you again, gloved hands rising to cradle your face.
“A month,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “A month tops. I swear I’ll be back before you even notice.”
You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Alright, Invincible,” you say, trying for playful. “Go save that planet. Come back before you flunk out before classes even start.”
That makes him laugh, breathless—and then his eyes drop to your lips.
And he kisses you before he can second-guess himself again.
Your mouth meets his instantly, warm and sure, like you’re afraid this will be the last time you get to feel him like this.
When you part, breathless and close, Mark wants to say it. The words burn on his tongue.
I love you.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he chuckles awkwardly, as if laughter might hide the way the words nearly slipped out.
“Alright,” he murmurs. “See you soon.”
And then, without waiting another second, he shoots up into the sky, trailing after Nuolzot and leaving the ground—and you—behind.
William’s voice echoes upward. “Wait, wait, wait—since when are you two together!? I need details!”
Mark doesn’t look back.
If he had, he might have seen the way your smile faltered the moment he turned away.
Mark returns to Earth two months later—twice the time he promised you. And somehow, that’s the part he can’t stop thinking about.
He should be happy to be home. Should be focused on the fact that he’s safe, alive. And still, a small part of him is terrified. Terrified that you’ve moved on. That in the time he was off-planet, you got bored of waiting, maybe met someone new—someone who actually stuck around like they said they would.
So he doesn’t go to you. Not right away. Not even when every fiber in his body aches to.
First, he goes home. He sees his mom—because of course he does. She needs to know he’s alive. That he’s okay. That he’s now the older brother to a half-bug alien baby. He spends time there, takes his time, and tells her everything.
And then, finally, he makes his way to Upstate U.
Now he has to see you—has to face whatever version of you he left behind. The one who might hate him, or worse… be totally fine without him.
He stops by his dorm first, quickly changing out of his suit and into something more casual. The more he thinks about you, the tighter his stomach clenches with anxiety.
When William remarks, “You were gone a long time, like forever in college years,” it feels like salt in the wound.
Mark winces, tugging his shirt over his head. “Yeah. I know.”
Surely you’re upset.
If not upset, then… indifferent.
And Mark honestly can’t decide which would hurt more.
Still, there’s something bubbling in his chest—nerves, maybe. But also that warm, fluttery anticipation he always gets when he’s about to see you. God, he missed you so damn much. Thought about you more times than he can count while everything around him fell apart in space.
So he throws on clean clothes, rakes a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath to ease his nerves.
“Wait, where are you going?” William asks as Mark heads for the door.
“Y/N’s room?” Mark says it like it’s obvious. Because it is. You’re three doors down. Three doors he’s been counting since he landed.
William’s expression shifts. “Oh. Uh. Y/N’s not here.”
Mark freezes. “What?”
“Went home two weeks ago. Medical leave.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Medical leave?” Mark’s voice cracks. “What happened?”
William shrugs helplessly. “No clue. He’s been sick for weeks though. Like, really sick.”
Mark’s mouth goes dry. His pulse spikes.
Sick?
Sick?
His thoughts spiral—there are only a few things he can think of that would make you sick. And none of them make sense. None of them feel random. Not for you. Not with what you are.
“What—what kind of sick?” Mark demands, already striding back into his dorm room, his voice tight, too fast. “Like a cold? Stress?”
But he already knows.
God, he doesn’t want to, but the truth is already clawing up the back of his throat. Gnawing at his brain like it wants him to panic.
William frowns, thrown by the sudden shift. “I don’t know the full details, man. He just said he was feeling weak… too tired to even make it to class. He even passed out once—that’s why he asked for the medical leave.” William’s tone is a mix of concern and confusion. “Something about malnutrition or whatever, which is weird, right? I mean, he usually eats enough for twenty—hey. Hey, where the hell are you going?”
Mark is already halfway out the window.
“Where do you think?” he snaps, voice cracking with the edge of panic. “I’m going to see him!”
And then he’s gone.
The wind tears through the dorm behind him as he rockets into the sky, leaving William shouting something he doesn’t hear.
Mark doesn’t care. He can’t. Not now. Not when all he can think about is getting to you.
So he pushes himself faster—faster than he’s flown in weeks. His hands clench and unclench in the air, sweat slicking his palms, speeding toward your home.
He arrives within minutes, and in those minutes, his brain spins through every worst-case scenario imaginable. Why are you even sick? Why’d you stop feeding? You need it to survive. That’s what you told him. So why? Why would you stop? It makes no sense.
Why the hell would you let yourself waste away?
Mark doesn’t bother with the front door. Not when your bedroom window is right there—always open. Always left unlocked. For him.
Mark flies up to it without thinking, presses against the glass, peering inside. It’s dim and quiet. Then his eyes dart to your bed—rumpled sheets, blanket kicked off, and you curled up there, too still, too pale. His chest seizes.
“Y/N?” he calls, voice uncertain—like he’s afraid to startle you.
You don’t answer.
Mark climbs through the window on shaky feet, moving to your side with heart pounding. His hand hovers before gently settling on your shoulder.
“Y/N,” he says, lower now. “Hey. It’s me. I came back.”
No answer.
His eyes scan you closer—the dullness in your skin, the dark shadows beneath your eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead, your cracked lips, the sunken look in your face.
Mark’s heart drops. His grip tightens on your shoulder, and he gives you a soft shake, panic bleeding into every movement.
“Y/N, please.”
Then—finally—you stir.
A soft, low hum escapes your throat. Your face scrunches weakly, like even blinking takes effort, and you crack one eye open, confused and half-dazed.
Mark lets out a shuddering breath, part relief, part fear, and drops to his knees beside the bed.
“Oh thank god,” he breathes out, his voice cracking, reaching up to cup your cheek gently. “Hey. I’m here. I’m here, okay?
“…Mark…?” you slur, voice cracked and barely a whisper.
Mark leans in immediately, heart racing, face just inches from yours. “Yeah, yeah—it’s me! Are you okay? Y/N, what’s going on?”
You blink slowly, trying to will your eyes to stay open. Then, with some effort, you shift on the bed, uncurling from yourself like a bear out of hibernation—sluggish and disoriented. You squint at him, dazed. “Mark, hey.” A weak cough follows, your throat dry and raw. “How’re you doing? It’s been so long.”
The casual way you say it—like you’re not on the edge of passing out on your own bed—shatters Mark all over again.
“Y/N…” Mark says, voice thick with disbelief, worry pulling hard at his face. “Forget about me—what happened to you? You look…”
He trails off, unable to say it, but his expression says enough. His eyes, wide and glassy, trace every hollowed detail in your face.
“Oh,” you exhale, trying to play it down. “It’s fine. I’ve just been… a little weak, is all.”
“A little weak?” Mark repeats, voice rising in disbelief. “You’re not a little weak, Y/N. You’re—God, William said you’ve been like this for weeks.”
You grimace, trying to smile through it, to keep him from worrying. But Mark sees right through the act. He watches, helpless, as you try to sit up, bracing yourself on trembling elbows—only for your arms to give out, your head dropping back to the pillow with a soft thud.
Mark stands and shifts to sit on the edge of your mattress, hands settling gently on your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.
“Hey—hey, don’t push yourself,” he says, voice low but firm. “Just—just stay still, okay?”
You don’t resist. Couldn’t even if you wanted to. You simply lie there, head sunk into your pillow, eyes barely open. You’re too tired to argue, too tired to even pretend you’re okay. Your breathing stays shallow, lips cracked, face drained of color.
Mark’s chest tightens. He watches you for a second that feels like forever before finally breaking the silence. “What happened, Y/N?” he asks, even though deep down, he already knows. He just needs to hear you say it. “What is it?”
You make a face, like there’s a million things you could say—but none of them are enough. Still, you force your lips to part.
“It’s just—” your voice wavers, then you let out a breath, helpless. “I haven’t fed off… you know…”
Mark’s brows draw together, his lips pressing into a tight, thin line.
You don’t look at him when you admit it—voice barely above a whisper. “Not since you left.”
There’s silence. A thick, awful silence.
Mark flinches like the words hit him in the chest. His heart starts pounding again, harder this time. “Why didn’t you go to someone else, Y/N?” he blurts—too sharp, too panicked. It comes out like an accusation, and he instantly regrets it.
You flinch too, like the words cut deeper than he meant. You look away, your features tight, skin grayed with exhaustion, eyes watery and dull. “…Should I have?” you ask, small and fragile.
And the answer is obvious. So obvious it makes Mark feel like a damn idiot for even saying anything.
No.
No.
Mark exhales shakily, one hand moving to cradle your cheek as he leans down, his forehead pressing gently to yours.
“No,” he whispers, voice thick. “Of course not.”
Only him. You’d only ever wanted him.
And god—god—isn’t that selfish of him, when your life was literally on the line?
But you smile. It’s small and tired—drained, really—but it’s a smile all the same. Like those words were exactly what you needed to hear. Like there was no one else you wanted to feed from anymore but Mark.
You tilt your head up, lips brushing his in a soft exhale. “Then… kiss me.”
Mark doesn’t hesitate. He bridges the last inch between you the second the words leave your mouth, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s soft, careful—desperate in all the ways he won’t admit out loud. Your sigh against him is so content, so relieved, it almost brings tears to his eyes.
He kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every lonely day he was gone.
His hand slides to your jaw, tilting it gently, thumb stroking your cheek as he deepens the kiss. His heart stutters at the way your body slowly starts to respond—weak, yes, but responding. When his lips part yours and your tongues meet, Mark groans softly into your mouth, heat coiling low in his gut.
He doesn’t rush, but the rhythm quickens just a beat. Enough to let himself feel your breath grow steadier against him, the slight tremble in your limbs easing, pulse pushing just a little stronger beneath your skin.
Then—God, your hands. They reach for him, still shaking, but purposeful. Fingers gliding up his chest, slow and searching, until they hook around his neck and pull him closer.
Mark obliges without hesitation, his other arm sliding beneath you to lift you gently against him. He feels your grip strengthen with each passing second, your kisses growing more urgent. And when you finally arch into him with a reawakened hunger, Mark knows he’ll give you everything.
Again and again and again.
The kiss breaks with a soft, wet sound, your shared breaths mingling in the thin space between you.
“Oh, Mark,” you whisper, voice rough and shaky, “I missed you.”
You look better already—cheeks touched with color, eyes less glassy. But it’s still not enough. Not even close.
There’s still tension in your brow, a strain in the way you lie beneath him, like it hurts to be hungry and still not full. Veins faintly shadow your temple. The dark bruises beneath your eyes haven’t faded. And the way your tongue drags across your lips—it’s need, raw and unfiltered.
“Missed you too,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
He knows one kiss won’t fix this. He knows better than to think you’d recover after just a moment of closeness. It’s been two months. Two months without feeding. Without touching. Without even knowing if he was coming back.
You needed more. Needed more than friction, more than mouth and tongue. You probably needed more than just getting him off like the last times—where you fed and then let him go, always asking for nothing in return.
You probably needed the real thing.
Mark’s throat tightens.
“I’m gonna—” he starts, breathless, almost shy, “—gonna make you feel good, okay?”
His hand trails lower, until it cups the heat between your legs, the bulge already thick and straining through your sweatpants. He squeezes, just enough to make you gasp, and the soft whine you let out snaps something in him.
Because for the first time, Mark thinks about it.
You’ve made him come—twice now. And afterward, he’d always been so wrapped up in his own high, in the rush of it, the haze, the way you looked so content with just tasting him... he never stopped to reciprocate the favor.
God, he’s been so selfish.
Mark’s throat bobs as his hand strokes you again, this time with more purpose—his thumb grazing the sensitive head through the fabric of your sweatpants. You keep making those greedy little sounds, soft and needy, and right then Mark decides—he’s going to make you fall apart under him. He’s going to make you shiver and whimper his name as you come undone.
“Mark,” you sigh, arching against his hand. “Oh, Mark.”
He picks up the pace, leaning in to capture every gasp and whimper straight from your mouth. Your tongues meet again—hungry and messy—as Mark begins grinding against you, his own arousal building, knowing you can feel it, feed off it, and revel in it.
It doesn’t take long for the pressure in his jeans to become unbearable—his cock straining hard against the fabric, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He can’t take it anymore. Can’t wait. And besides, this—this—is the fastest way to get you back on your feet, glowing with strength.
He pulls away from your lips just enough to murmur, “Let me,” breathless, fingers already hooking into your waistband. “Let me take care of you.”
Your soft, desperate moan is all the permission he needs.
With trembling hands, Mark peels down your sweatpants and underwear in one fluid motion, careful as he slides them past your legs. You shudder at the exposure, but you don’t hide—you open your legs willingly, inviting him in. Your face is flushed, the color blooming down your neck and ears. It’s the first time you’ve ever been this vulnerable with someone. And from the look in your eyes, you’re glad it’s Mark.
He drinks in the sight of you, chest heaving. Then, in one smooth motion, he strips off his shirt and tosses it aside, eyes never leaving you.
“Shit…” You bite your lip, but there’s a glint in your eyes—a flash of mischief under all that exhaustion. “You’re so sexy, Mark.”
Mark flushes, his skin warming as your hands roam his chest, greedy and sure, fingers tracing over muscles that flex and shudder under your touch. It’s too much—almost overwhelming—and he has to brace himself, hands planted on either side of your head to keep from collapsing on top of you.
“Fuck—” His hips jerk involuntarily when your hand travels lower, undoing his belt, pulling the zipper down. “Y/N…”
You breathe out a needy sound when his cock springs free, hand wrapping around him without hesitation.
“Jesus,” you murmur hoarsely, licking your lips. “I’m so—so hungry, Mark. I can’t wait.”
Mark moans at the sight of you, the desperation in your voice making his head spin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You stroke him with trembling fingers, and Mark’s hips move in time with your touch, his breath growing ragged. “Yeah. Fuck. I’ve been—starving for you.”
Mark groans, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, undone by the way your fingers work him—confident, greedy, like you need him. And yeah, you do. He knows what his pleasure does to you. Knows how his arousal, his moans, even the steady pulse of precum leaking from his tip—slicking your fingers—is what makes you stronger. What feeds you.
But it’s not enough.
He wants to see you come for once. Wants to hear you gasp and writhe because he’s making you feel good.
“Can I…?” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, his voice tight with restraint. “Can I fuck you?”
Your hand slows, eyes going wide, startled by the question—but then you smile, soft and full of something like fondness.
“Yes,” you whisper after a moment. “Of course.”
Mark exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months, pressing his forehead against yours. When his lips find yours again, the kiss turns desperate—all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up longing. You meet him with equal fervor, legs parting instinctively as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.
“Should I—” Mark gasps between kisses, his voice thick with both desire and hesitation. “Should I prep you or—”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m not some fragile human who needs coddling. Just fuck me, Mark.”
There’s something feral in your voice now—primal and wild in a way he’s never heard from you. The more energy floods your system, a spark of life returning to your features, the more your instincts take over.
“Okay,” he rasps, more to himself than you. “Okay, just—”
Mark swallows hard, his gaze trailing down your body with a mix of awe and nervous hunger. His breath catches at the sight of your cock straining between you, at the way your hole flutters impatiently.
His eyes drop—slowly, hungrily—trailing down your body, pausing at the sight of your flushed cock, your spread legs, your willing entrance. He swallows thickly, breath catching in his throat.
“It’s fine,” you whisper, voice softening just enough as your hand continues to stroke him, thumb grazing the sensitive head, coaxing more precum from his tip. “I’ll guide you.”
And guide him you do.
You pump him a few more times, slicking him up while he groans, every sigh vibrating against your lips. Then you part your legs even further, just enough for his hips to fit between them snugly. One hand steadies his cock, the other resting on his hip as you line him up, brushing the tip against your entrance.
“Just like that,” you sigh, arching beneath him. “Push, Mark. Please.”
Mark’s hips stutter, his cock sliding between your cheeks with desperate, jerky movements. He’s achingly hard, every nerve alight with need.
“Is this—” His voice cracks as the head of his cock catches at your entrance. “God, Y/N—is this okay?”
Your answer comes with a whimper, head tipping back against the pillows. “Yes. Fuck me. I want you.”
Mark’s hips stutter, and then your legs hook around his waist, pulling him in—forcing him deeper.
“Fuck—” he chokes out, voice tight.
The head of his cock sinks into you, your body welcoming him in a slick, hot pull that makes both of you moan, trembling against each other.
“Yes—” you gasp, fingers curling against his back. “Push, Mark. I don’t care. Just do it.”
Mark bites down on his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes.
The glide is smooth, easy—thanks to the slick layer of precum and your guiding hands. He shudders all the way in, your body stretching to take him, tight and perfect around him. You groan, hands digging into his back as if to hold him there forever.
“Yes, yes,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, Mark, yes.”
For a suspended moment, when he’s fully buried inside you, all Mark can do is feel—the way you pulse around him, the desperate clutch of your hands on his back, the dizzying realization that this is happening.
He barely remembers how to breathe, barely manages to stay upright with how shaky his arms feel braced on either side of your head. His whole body is trembling—and maybe it’s not just the exhaustion from space. Maybe it’s not just the days without sleep, or the long journey back.
Maybe it’s you. Draining him with every moan, every squeeze, every drop of arousal he gives you.
And still—still—he doesn’t want to stop.
“Move,” you order, voice low and hushed.
Then you move beneath him first—hips grinding upward, taking him in deeper—and all of Mark’s coherent thought shatters.
“Harder,” you gasp, nails scoring down his back. “Please—”
Mark obeys with a broken moan, thrusting out and back in, out and in again. The pace he sets is clumsy and frantic, but it doesn’t matter—because you love it. You moan louder with every stroke, squirming beneath him, nails digging into his back, dragging down hard.
“So good,” you sigh, head tipping back as pleasure ripples through you. “God, Mark—so good.”
The room fills with the slap of skin on skin, the choked-off noises Mark makes when you clench around him, the way your shared breaths grow ragged and uneven.
Mark buries his face in the curve of your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse point as his muscles tremble with exertion. There’s a familiar tug at his consciousness, a slow drain of energy that should terrify him but instead sends a thrill down his spine.
Because when you moan in his ear like that, when you shiver around him, when you praise him in that wrecked voice—
“Like that.” Unsteady but sure. “Just like that.”
Mark couldn’t stop if he tried.
The renewed vigor in your movements—the way your fingers clutch at him with renewed strength—tells him it’s working. You’re coming back to life beneath him, flush with stolen energy, even as his own vision starts to blur at the edges.
“Don’t stop,” you beg, voice wrecked.
Mark doesn’t. Not when you feel this good around him—hot and tight and his.
So he fucks you through it, chasing your pleasure even as his body screams for respite, determined to give you every last drop until you’re sated.
Until you’re whole again.
Then Mark’s thrusts begin to falter—his rhythm stuttering, teeth sinking into your shoulder— and he gasps, voice wrecked and shaking, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come—!”
You groan, biting your lower lip hard enough to sting.
“Come inside me,” you moan—half-whimper, half-command. “I’m so fucking close. I want you inside.”
Mark whimpers at your words, hips jerking wildly now, erratic and desperate. The thought of finishing inside you scrambles whatever’s left of his composure.
“Y/N—” he chokes out, barely audible. “I’m—I’m coming—”
And then he does.
His entire body goes taut, trembling, his hips giving one final, deep thrust that buries him to the hilt. His orgasm hits like a wave, a raw, broken cry torn from his throat as he spills into you, thick and hot. You arch beneath him, eyes fluttering shut, a moan clawing out of you as you feel it—every pulse, every drop filling you.
It’s that—the heat of his cum flooding you, the sheer intensity of his release—that finally pushes you over the edge.
You come untouched, back arching off the bed, spilling hot across your stomach as you cry out his name.
“Fuck, fuck,” you babble, shuddering. “Fuck, Mark—”
He’s still moving, just barely—his hips twitching in helpless, involuntary thrusts as he rides out every last wave of his orgasm, cum leaking from the edges of your hole. It’s messy. It’s perfect. It’s so good it makes you smile through the aftershocks, warmth blooming in your chest with every stolen breath.
“Fuck,” Mark sobs, forehead dropping against your shoulder, gasping like he can’t breathe. “My god…”
His muscles spasm—thighs trembling, arms shaky and weak—and finally give out. With a groan, Mark collapses on top of you. You huff out a breath, wrapping your arms around him, a soft, breathless laugh escaping your lips.
“Mark,” you whisper, voice soaked in satisfaction. “You good?”
He doesn’t answer. His face is still buried in your neck, breath warm and erratic against your oversensitive skin. He wants to answer, to lift his head and kiss you—because God, you felt so good, because you made him feel incredible, and for once, he knows he made you feel good, too.
But he can’t.
His limbs feel like they’ve turned to stone. Not just his head, not just his arms—everything. The weight of exhaustion hits him all at once like gravity’s been waiting for its moment to strike. The fatigue he’s been running from all this time finally catches up, drained utterly by you. He blinks, trying to fight it off, but it’s useless.
“Mark?” There’s concern edging your voice now, even as your fingers continue their soothing motions along his spine. “Mark.”
You’re warm, energized—glowing with renewed strength—and that, at least, feels like a win. He tries to respond, but the only sound that escapes is a slurred, “Hnng?”
Sleep is pulling him under fast. Even your voice—the one thing he wants to hear—is fading, like it’s coming from another room, another world.
You shake him once. Then again. But he’s already slipping, the darkness too heavy, too deep.
The last thing he’s aware of is the way his cock still twitches inside you, the way your thighs tighten reflexively around his hips, and the way you keep whispering his name—like a lullaby echoing in his ears.
If this is how he goes out, Mark thinks dimly as darkness claims him, it’s one hell of a way to go.
When Mark wakes up, he’s curled around a pillow that smells like you, drooling on it like a damn baby.
He blinks, sluggish and unfocused, head heavy, limbs like lead. His whole body aches—not in a bad way, just in that spent, used-up kind of way. He feels wrung out and dazed. Did he not die?
Groaning, Mark pushes himself up onto his elbows, muscles trembling under his own weight. He glances around, eyes squinting as the pieces slowly fall into place: the decorations on the walls, clothes scattered on the floor, sheets half-draped over his bare body. He recognizes all of it.
And when he hears your faint humming from somewhere beyond the door, it all crashes back.
Oh. He had sex with you. Like—real sex. And somehow, he lived to tell the tale.
His eyes widen as reality slams into him. He jolts upright on your bed—your bed—heart pounding. Shit, did he pass out? How long has it been? What day is it? What year is it? He feels like he’s been out for decades, and yet somehow still not enough to shake the heavy fog pressing on his consciousness.
Then your humming gets louder. He snaps his head toward the door just in time to see it swing open—and there you are.
You spot him, freeze mid-step, and for a split second, the whole room holds its breath.
Mark’s dry lips part. “Y/N—”
“Mark!” you gasp, face lighting up with a wide grin. “You’re awake! Oh, thank god!”
You cross the room in three eager strides, arms open, all warmth and affection. You throw yourself into him without hesitation.
Mark lets out a soft oof as he catches you, the momentum knocking him flat on his back again. The room spins briefly, but the second he registers the weight of you on his chest, the warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice—he relaxes. He smiles, soft and dopey, and buries his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he’s never been more grateful to be alive.
“Hey,” Mark greets, voice hoarse but tinged with amusement. “How long was I out?”
You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press your face into his chest and hold him tight—like if you let go, he might vanish. Then, after a long moment, you pull back. But instead of replying, you cup his cheeks with both hands and kiss him.
Mark melts into it without hesitation, hands sliding to your waist, holding you close. He sighs against your lips, groaning softly as he kisses you back like it’s the only thing keeping him awake.
When you break apart, your smile lingers, bright and full of affection. “I was worried you wouldn’t wake up for at least a week,” you murmur, thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. “Most humans wouldn’t. But you—it’s only been, like, sixteen hours.”
Mark jerks upright so fast he nearly headbutts you. “Sixteen hours?!”
You wince, guilt flashing across your face. “Y-Yeah. But—I called your mom! I didn’t exactly explain, but she knows you’re here. She told me to make sure you call her as soon as you’re up.”
Mark exhales, half in disbelief, half in relief. “Jesus. I didn’t think I’d be out that long.”
“…I’m sorry,” you whisper, glancing away. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I didn’t think—I shouldn’t have risked your life just to feed. Just to—be close to you like that.”
“No.” Mark cuts in, his hands sliding up to your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Don’t say that.”
His eyes are steady when you meet them.
“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, firm but soft. “No matter the consequences. Me. With you. Like... that.”
He blushes, and you blush, and suddenly neither of you can hold eye contact.
“The best thing?” you murmur, fingers fumbling with the sheets. “Really?”
Mark swallows hard, his embarrassment obvious, but the truth is already bubbling too close to the surface to hold back. Everything he’s felt for you, everything he’s been trying to keep buried, is rising—unstoppable now.
“Yes,” he says softly, voice a little shaky. “Having sex with the person who matters most to me... because you needed me. Because I—”
The pause stretches, fragile.
“Because I love you.”
Your eyes widen at that, the guarded concern melting into something raw and vulnerable.
“Really?” you ask again, a little breathless.
“Of course,” Mark says, a little more sure this time. “I love you, Y/N. And I’d do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant seeing you like this—your real, bright, happy self—again.”
Your lips part in surprise, then you smile—wide and brilliant and so full of love it practically blinds him. Before his tired brain can catch up, you throw yourself at him again, arms around his neck, kissing him open-mouthed and deep.
“I love you too, Mark,” you whisper against his lips, soft and sure.
Mark kisses you back, slow and full of affection, even though his body still feels like it’s made of lead. His chest aches, but in the best possible way—because it’s full of you.
“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he murmurs between kisses. “If I hadn’t been in space, you wouldn’t have been starving. That’s on me.”
“Don’t say that,” you roll your eyes, but the affection in your voice makes it feel more like a caress. “It’s my nature, okay? Not something you can control. And I waited for you—because I knew you’d come back.”
You lean in and peck the pout off his lips, soft and loving, and then both of you just… look at each other. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same space. The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward—it’s warm.
God—he loves you. Loves everything about you. And loves even more that you feel the same.
“So… does this mean…” Mark hesitates, cheeks pink, “we’re a thing now? Because I want us to be. I really do. I don’t ever want you kissing assholes behind the school anymore—or, well, now at college—because… you have me.”
You giggle, flustered, cheeks glowing. “Yeah—I have you.” You kiss him again, square on the mouth like you couldn’t possibly get enough of him. “And you have me.”
Mark grins, red-faced and beaming, before he pulls you tight against his chest and kisses you again—deep and slow and full of all the words he’s still too overwhelmed to say.
Like I love you.
Like I don’t ever want to let go.
Like don’t ever let me go either.
Then you say, casual as anything, “By the way, my parents want you to have breakfast with us.”
“What?!” Mark pulls back instantly, blushing so hard it reaches his ears. “They—they were here the whole time?!”
“What? No!” you say quickly, just as flustered. “But when they got home from work and saw me fine—you know, they kinda figured out what must’ve happened for me to be this fine. And, ugh—” you roll your eyes, groaning into his shoulder, “they wanna thank the boy who saved their ‘stubborn son’s life,’ or whatever.”
Mark exhales, still pink but processing. “Oh. Then… sure. I mean—do you think they’ll be okay with us? You and me?”
You smile, full of quiet certainty. “Mark, they’ve always liked you. Remember the cake my mom made you for your sixteenth birthday?”
“She decorated it with Seance Dog comic panels,” Mark mumbles, still flushed.
“Exactly,” you laugh. “I’ve been telling them about my crush on you since forever, Mark.”
And Mark flushes all over again, helpless to do anything but smile and pull you back in for another kiss.
A/N: thank you for readingggg, kisses and hugs and more kisses for dealing with me (●'◡'●)
#mark grayson x male reader#invincible x male reader#male reader#x male reader#male!reader#mark grayson x reader#mark grayson#invincible#gay
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
OVERPROTECTIVE




pairing: max verstappen x fem!leclerc!reader
word count: 1.6k+
summary: the story of how you and max met . . . and how protective he and your brothers can be
request: max verstappen and leclerc!reader : overprotective charles and carlos, very domestic and protective max while theyre int he paddock during race, maybe hes also very affectionate. just some fluff and comedy
warnings/contents: swearing, sexual innuendos
author’s note: maybe took it too far with the beginning but i couldn’t help it, plus that’s something that max would do

As the youngest sibling and only girl, you knew your family would be protective ━━ especially your brothers. Sometimes you liked it, and used it to your advantage by scaring off random guys at parties and being a little less afraid of walking home at night with them there, but you also hated it sometimes. You knew they just wanted you to be okay and not have to experience the same things they did, but it still sucked. Your parents stuck up for you when they could, but when you first moved out and stayed with Charles there wasn’t much they could do.
They had managed to scare off almost every guy you liked or started a relationship with, saying they were ‘too mean’ or ‘impolite’ or just little things like they didn’t like the way he dressed or how he talked. The longest you had been with a guy was two weeks before he got annoyed at your brothers and left. You ignored them for a week as you only went to school, your job, and hid in your room when you were home. And you bet the got a stern talking to from your parents ━━ especially your mom.
That was the longest you had been with someone . . . Until you met Max. You had heard , and knew of, Max Verstappen as him and your brother did karting together as kids and Charles joined Formula One only three years after, but you had never interacted.
The first time you met was in 2019. You had moved to Monaco for university and were living with Charles. Though Charles had invited you to races before, you always declined busy with school work or your job, where Charles would respond with something along the lines of ‘i don’t know why you have that job anyway’ which you would roll your eyes and flip him off. It was the Austrian Grand Prix that you finally agreed to go, one of the races that Max had won that year. You had gotten some time off from your job and you didn’t have too much work so you agreed.
When you arrived, you were a little overwhelmed so you mostly stayed in the Ferrari garage, talking to Charles and sometimes Sebastian, though they were pretty busy. The next couple days you didn’t have too much time to go out and explore, to worried about watching free practices and qualifying, and you didn’t even think about leaving during the race until it was over.
It wasn’t until the after party that you actually talked to him. You originally weren’t going to go, you were going to stay in and work on homework, until Charles begged you and you agreed . . . but only because he came second and you were proud of him. You were nineteen, so you were legal, but you were sure even if you weren’t you’d be allowed a few drinks, albeit with Charles hovering over you more than usual.
It was about twenty minutes into the party ━━ with you and Charles getting drinks and being introduced to other people ━━ when you got introduced to Max. “Max!” Charles had called over the thumping bass of the music. At first, the Dutch man didn’t hear until your brother yelled right into his ear. He turned around, surprised, before calling a ‘Charles!’ and congratulating him. He didn’t see you until he pulled away from the hug, turning to see you. “This is my sister! Y/n!” He told Max, again yelling. You loudly introduced yourself as you put your hand forward. “Max! You came to watch Charles karting when you were younger right?” You nodded. “I recognize you!”
Max eventually got pulled away by some people, you assumed technicians or mechanics as you don’t recognize them as drivers, and didn’t see each other for another hour. You had stepped outside for a minute, overwhelmed, though you made sure to tell Charles where you were going. When you had, he immediately became concerned but you waved him off, telling him you were okay and just needed some fresh air.
You were leaning against the wall of the building, bottle of water in your hand as you heard footsteps. You quickly turned your head, though calmed once you saw it was only Max. “Scare you?” He asked. You got to hear his voice clearer now, taking in his accent slipping out due to the alcohol. “Can never be too careful. Dangerous for women.” He nodded, but didn’t say anything for a little. As you were taking a sip of water, he started to speak. “First race?” You nodded, “yeah. I’ve watched, obviously, but I’ve just been too busy with school that I haven’t had the chance. It’s been a little overwhelming at times ━━ hence why I’m out here.”
“I get that. It was for me too.” You turned to look at him. “You were seventeen, right?” He looked surprised that you knew that. “Yeah . . . I was.” You could see in his eyes that remembering that was heavy. “That must’ve been hard.” You told him but didn’t plan on talking anymore about it. “It was, but that’s life.” You nodded. You offered him a sip of your water bottle, knowing he must be getting thirsty. He replied with a small ‘thank you’ before taking a sip. “Want to get out of here? I’m done for the night.” You raised your eyebrow, “wow. What a gentleman.” He must’ve realized what that sounded like before he started to sputter, apologizing and saying that’s not when he meant. He look confused when you started to laugh. “I know what you meant. But you are drunk and I don’t have a car.”
He lowered his eyebrows. “Right.” You pulled out your phone, getting ready to call a cab. “I’ll call you a cab and get you one while I tell Charles where I’m going.” “You’re coming with me?” You nodded, “yeah, I’m don’t for tonight too. I’ll help you to your room because you are not as sober as you think you are and then I’m heading back to my hotel.”
You went in, telling Max with a stern finger in his direction to ‘stay where he was’ while you went to grab a bottle of water and tell Charles where you were going. He didn’t approve, warning you to be careful and not fall for anything, but you assured him you were fine.
That night you helped him to his hotel and to his room, finding a bottle of water and aspirin that was in your purse to set on his beside table. While you were leaving, he grabbed your wrist. “Will you take up my offer? Dinner sometime?” You smiled at him. “Sure, but ask me again when you’re sober so you know what you are doing.” The next morning on the plane, you got a text from Max, letting you know he got your number from someone and that he still wanted to take you out for dinner. You agreed, setting a time and place.
That eventual dinner date led to now, almost five years into your relationship. Charles was a bit upset, but after a ‘talk’ with Max, he felt a little bit better about it, and he warmed up after awhile. Your brothers didn’t manage to scare him off. You had warned him, and talked with them about it, so that helped a little.
It was the 2024 Bahrain Grand Prix. You sat in the Ferrari garage talking with your brother and Carlos while also keeping track of your boyfriend during the free practice. You were sitting down in one of that chairs with the two men standing. You didn’t even notice something was happening until you felt something hit the back of your head. You let out a small ‘ouch’ while rubbing the back of your head. You tried not to make a scene, but the mechanic who had hit you let out a big ‘oh shit!’ which pulled everyone’s attention. I
Immediately your brother was on you making sure you were okay while Carlos went to chew out the mechanic. Through the pain in your head, and Charles calling for ice and a medical staff, you heard a mix of fast English and Spanish. It wasn’t until the ice was placed on your head that you started to refocus. “Est-ce que ça va (are you okay)?” You nodded, though regretted it immediately. “Ouais. Tout va bien (yeah. I’m fine).” Carlos eventually came over and pulled Charles away to let the doctor examine you. You told them you were fine and that Charles was exaggerating ━━ which they laughed at ━━ before checking you out anyway and clearing you.
Though you know better, you thought that Charles and Carlos would leave it, but you were wrong because later when you got back from the bathroom, you saw the two men talking to a very angry looking Max. When Max saw you, he left the boys and headed straight for you, using his hands to bend your head down and check the back of your head. “Are you okay? Were you hurt?” You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “I feel like a monkey being inspected by another monkey.” He pulled your head back up so your eyes met his.
“Schatje.” “Max. I swear I’m fine, it was a mistake.” It was his turn to roll his eyes, “a mistake that shouldn’t happen.” You stars at him, unimpressed. “Max Emilian Verstappen if you do anything I’m not scratching your head tonight.” You told him as you walked away.
“Liefje! That’s not fair!”
#emma writes#imagine#x reader#x fem!reader#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen imagine#f1#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#formula one#formula one x y/n#formula one x you#formula one x reader#formula one imagine#formula one fanfic#formula 1#formula 1 x y/n#formula 1 x you#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fanfic#leclerc!reader#f1 fic#formula one fic
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Dc x Dp story prompt pt. 2
The same vein as my other post here
But what if Damian and Danny was the same age, I really love that trope too, that they’re basically twins how close in age they are, maybe just a few days, MAX a week or so.
When Damian comes back to the family, Bruce gets a whole new kind of paranoid again. He kinda stopped the whole sleeping around phase when he got the kids, since Dick (wanting to kill people) kinda took up a lot of his free time. And after that the kids just kept coming so he didn’t really get into it again.
But then Damian came into it, and he was like “wait, have I checked the DNA database the last few years??” And goes down into the cave to do a country wide DNA analysis on DNA on file, both in police/hospitals and the whole nine yards. (Cause he’s extra like that)
And then he find that in just about the same time he was SA’ed by Talia, he got really drunk at a science charity event in Amity Park, maybe to get rid of his stress of it all, and because Bruce would rather die than cope with his problems in a healthy way, and released some energy by being with the Fenton couple, who seemed sane enough (at the time).
The Fenton’s knew that Danny was Wayne’s but then decided that they kinda just wanted him themselves, and then got really into GiW and ghost hunting, and then kinda forgot to tell Wayne.
So now Bruce has to juggle with the fact that Talia hid away Damian, and the Fentons fucking forgot to tell him that they have his son.
He goes to Amity Park to find his son, who’s basically in the same situation as Tim, barely acknowledged by his parents and left to his own devices with his sister.
Bruce being Bruce goes, welp, might as well get custody of them both. Legally he should be able to when Danny confesses to the illegal machines in the basement that killed him. So the couple is deemed unfit to care for the two, then minors.
Problem is:
Danny and Jazz doesn’t really want to leave Amity Park.
Solution:
Buy a second mansion in Amity Park and make that the home they move into, with servants vetted by the Waynes, and security on par with the White House.
They can live there until they finish school, and they’re free to choose what happens after that, go to Gotham and be with the family, maybe Gotham university, or anything else.
Bruce is just happy that they’re not in the cape business like the rest of his kids…
Danny doesn’t know Bruce is Batman, so he has to be extra careful to not expose himself as a hero to them, and also not drag them into the ghost realm and ghost fighting. And also, wtf is wrong with the ectoplasm in the Jason kid?? (He a ghost too??)
But he also really likes the idea of an actually caring family, I mean, Bruce went out of his way to not uproot his life and makes sure they can choose whatever future they want, even if that doesn’t include him. Hell he even took Jazz in, who isn’t even his kid.
His new siblings seem fun, caring and like they actually care, making an effort to help him understand that being neglected by his parents isn’t his fault. Tim and him finding comradeship in both of their experiences with it. Dick is just overly protective and seems like he’s trying to genuinely get to know him. Making sure not to pressure the two new siblings too much, but also organizing siblings bonding time.
Bruce of course doesn’t know yet that Danny is a vigilante, so he has to juggle wanting to learn about these new kids, as well as hide them away from his Brucie persona, so they can live normal lives.
He’ll just ignore the way Constantine is brushing things off his shoulders every time they’re in the watchtower together, mumbling something about a ‘dark energy’ clinging to him. But he always says weird shit.
So what happens when a giant ghost fight occurs in Amity, Bruce is notified and comes to rescue his kid in full Batman gear, Danny is gone and Jazz won’t tell him where he is, cause why the fuck does Batman care.
Danny is just confused why the entire Justice league is suddenly in Amity, and why the fuck The Batman™️ is running around looking for his human form.
Identity crisis at its finest.
#Danny just explains that he got CPR#He’s totally not a half ghost half human#his parents weird obsession with ghosts?#he doesn’t know anything#nothing at all!!#promise!!!!#batman#batfam#dick grayson#jason todd#batfamily shenanigans#batkids#bruce wayne#batfam shenanigans#tim drake#damian wayne#danny fenton#danny phantom#dp x dc prompt#dp x dc crossover#dc x dp#dp x dc#dc universe#protective batfam
578 notes
·
View notes
Text
The School is Calling
You got a call about your kid(s) fighting at school ... this can't be good .... or is it? [Requested by: Anon]
Zayne
Principal: Your child got into a fight during lunch
MC: who started the fight?
Principal: That's not important the important thing is your daughter brutally beat up another child
Zayne: What was the fight about?
Principal: Another child took her fruit cup
MC: Is this the same kid who put slime in her hair two days ago?
Principal: Yes but-
Zayne: Is this the same kid who's been taking her notebooks for the last two weeks
Principal: well you see-
Zayne: This sounds like a case of bullying and it seems as though you and your staff have done little to discipline a student who has been bullying our daughter
Principal: I assure you we have a strict no bullying poli-
Zayne: It's not strict enough.
The principals lips snap shut.
Zayne: Now violence is not the answer, but this sounds like a case of self-defense you along with your staff need to handle the bullying problem you have in this school
Principal: ....
Zayne: Are we done here?
Principal: Yes we're done here sir sorry to bother you two
MC: Don't be sorry be better
Rafayel
Principal: Your children got into a fight during recess
Rafayel: Damn *turns to his kids* did you two win?
Your children rapidly nod with big smiles on their faces.
Rafayel: Hell yea! up top!
Principal: Sir this is not a good thing
Rafayel: Did they start it?
Principal: Well no
Rafayel: So they finished it?
Principal: Sir
Rafayel: Good talk ... tell your students to leave my kids alone now if we're done here im taking them to get ice cream
Rafayel walks outside with the twins in tow and finds you leaning against the hood of the car.
MC: So?
Rafayel: They didn't start it they finished it and they won
MC: That's what I like to hear ... Ice cream?
Rafayel & the twins: ICE CREAM !

Xavier
Principal: Your child got into a fight during P.E.
MC: Who started it?
Principal: That's not important here
Xavier: Answer the question.
Principal: ........The other kid shoved your child into the wall
Xavier: Which explains the bruise on his elbow
Principal: Your child then proceeded to punch the other kid in the mouth knocking his tooth out
Xavier: Sounds like self defense
Principal: Your son busted that kids lip sir
MC: Maybe that kid should've kept his hands off our son
Principal: We can't have your son fighting it goes against everything we stand for
Xavier: My son has told you and your staff multiple times this kid was being mean to him and you've done nothing
Principal: We've done everything we can
Xavier: No you haven't you let it slide until he stood up for himself and showed that kid that his actions have consequences we're done here

Sylus
MC: I just got a call from the school, but I won't be able to make it up there in time Sylus: I'll go I'm not busy MC: Okay let me know how it goes
Principal: Im sorry to inform you that we're going to have to suspend your daughter
Sylus: Why.
Principal: She tied up a student and stuffed him in a locker
Sylus: Why.
Principal:*mumbling* He .... He ripped one of her braids out
Sylus: Speak up.
Principal: Another student pulled her hair and removed a braid by accident
Sylus: If I do recall my daughter has reported this kid pulling her hair multiple times
Principal: Yes but we can't have her fighting
Sylus: She didn't fight .... she overpowered him and showed their difference in strength
Principal: but-
Sylus: You're lucky she doesn't like picking on the weak ... don't bother me or her mother with these trivial matters again ... lets go little dove
MC: How did it go? Sylus: Just a friendly chat nothing serious MC: What did she do? Sylus: Made me proud
#love and deepspace#sylus love and deepspace#sylus#lnds sylus#love and deepspace sylus#lads#lads rafayel#lads xavier#lads zayne#lads sylus#lnds#lnds rafayel#lnds zayne#lnds xavier#zayne love and deepspace#rafayel love and deepspace#xavier love and deepspace#nikaaaaimagine
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
crow choir: seven minutes min. two - hatchling (batfam x neglected!reader)
ms. 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08
something bites at your hand, and with a jolt, you awake from your sleep to find it’s your own mouth pressed against it. you pull it away under the weight of your quilt, blinking up at the ceiling above you.
time’s moved differently since you came here, the minutes you used to spend being angry replaced with a whole lot of nothing now. it’s dilated, you’ll think a day has passed only to find out it’s been an hour, the present feels like a distant memory, your bones too little for your body.
the time… right, what’s the time? you look at the alarm clock on your bedside table, vision blurred and difficult to figure out. nearly eight o’clock. your family might be up already, you squint, getting up, except maybe tim.
even though you wake up at eight, you don’t get up until much later. time passes differently in the wayne manor, remember? it’s only around nine thirty that you actually sneak down the stairs, footsteps light as they avoid alfred cleaning in the living room, and into the kitchen to get yourself an apple. dick’s come to visit, from bludhaven, but you haven’t seen him so far yet.
you take a bite of the apple, swerving off into the back garden, sitting behind a bush. you hope by the time you’re done eating, a million years have passed, and you don’t have to see any of them again; your family. what happens instead, is your ears pick up some conversation, and the only thing you can make out are the voices. damian, dick and bruce.
you blink, and suddenly you’re fourteen again, having your first meal with the family. you didn’t know jason and damian back then, your older brother still six feet under to your knowledge, and the younger likely scaling a mountain after breakfast. it was you, bruce, alfred and tim, since dick lived in bludhaven.
what was there to say, or do, really? you didn't feel much left out of anything, since they rarely ever did anything. tim and bruce both spent much more time in their rooms and offices, or at galas and ceremonies than they did at home. and what in the world would you have in common with alfred? you avoided him more than he did you.
your life got relatively busier once you got enrolled in school, feeling horribly awkward among children entirely out of your league. of course, your guardian was the bruce wayne, you weren’t out of place financially. simply put, (name) was a loner, having no friends before or after the “wayne intervention”. you’d sit far off in a corner during lunch, speak to only your teachers, and busy yourself with work when the loneliness got too suffocating. too big for your little bones.
you can’t blame yourself entirely for being a loser in the early days. tim skipped school regularly, so despite being in the same class, you two were barely ever in the same place at the same time. the other kids thought you were too posh, or arrogant, seeing you so closed off to them. bruce wayne’s money must’ve got to your head fast, they’d assume. either that, or you were just too much of a freak to be around, that old gleam having never quite left your eyes, despite how tired they were nowadays.
being at home was positively worse. the hallways stretched out for what felt like miles, always empty and quiet. you would’ve considered sun shining through the windows a blessing when you were younger, but now it just made you ill, the orange and yellow making your head spin. waking up felt like a chore, since you got up to the same quietness that you fell asleep to.
the little relief you had from this monotony would come when dick came to visit from bludhaven. despite how miserable you seemed, unapproachable even, he did try. he’d take you and tim outside to a number of food trucks and parks and carnivals, sometimes he’d bring back gifts from bludhaven. the two of you were never really close, no, not the way he was with tim, or damian later. but he was there, for a while. he'd tried to be ordinary, and you'd tried to be anything but.
you could go as far as to say you didn’t dislike him as much, maybe, for just a second even considered him family. but things fell apart eventually, they always do! things age, they rot, they become old. you grow older.
at some point cassandra became a name you hear murmured among tim and bruce more and more often, but you payed no mind. you met her, the two of you content with avoiding each other's attendance. there’s a shine in her eyes, attentively sharp, different from the heavy weight and bluntness you’ve felt from your own reflection in mirrors. bruce favours her, you understand, and it drives the little surviving wrath you have for him mad. too ordinary.
you’re not too sure when dick started distancing from you (you noted with a little disdain, that very little came in between his bond with tim). maybe a little while before you met jason for the first time?
jason.
you spit an apple seed onto the ground, eyes zoning out on it. you don’t like him, but you don’t know enough to dislike him. the first time jason came around to the manor was much after everyone else had already met him- after he “came back”. no one bothered to tell you what that meant, though. came back from where?
you’d woken in the middle of the night, with a crater formed in your chest from this ever-persistent sense of anxiety, and couldn't go back to sleep. with nothing to do to get rid of that feeling, you’d made a silly decision to haunt the kitchen at midnight, fill that crater with some imported snack. after all, gotham was always prettier at night, and there’d be no alfred to catch you.
maybe if you’d chosen another day then, you wouldn’t be so weary to leave your room at dark now. it was just your luck to accidentally stumble upon a disheveled and blood-stained jason, digging through the pantry like an animal. were you dreaming? was this some nightmare?
you’d both tensed in sync, but where his hand instinctively reached for the gun strapped to his thigh, yours clamped around the edge of the clothes you were wearing. he didn’t grab his gun, neither of you said anything.
some expression of distaste went over his face. you could see it- a silent “another one?”, peeking out from behind him domino mask in the dark, and nothing more. you both agreed quietly, that you didn’t see each other, and he left through the window, leaping.
all your interactions after that have been “supervised” by somebody else. you’ve not talked to jason. you think he doesn’t want to ever have to talk to you. you have nothing in common, so with very little remorse, you decide you really don’t care.
it’s not until damian arrives that you truly feel jealous. that you really begin to resent your reclusivity, your inability to be a part of their family for the first time. it’s the softness in dick’s expression that stopped being directed to you long ago, that sends you rabid, bruce’s hand on his shoulder that makes you bite your tongue into bloody bits, and the way he scowls and bites so often, and gets away with it, that truly makes you upset for the first time.
maybe if he’d been like the rest, nothing but a coloured mass in the corner of your eye, you would’ve gotten over it. you had a lot to do. a lot, really. but he wasn’t like them, no- he was like you. but he wasn't ordinary, so were you like him? you were only ordinary.
his presence felt suffocating, even when he was far off in the corner away from you. if you tried to shut your eyes, your little brother shone through your eyelids like a radiating studio-light, persistent.
damian noticed you, that’s what was the worst. you’d once peered down at him from a balcony, watching him swing a sword around in the garden, caught off-guard when he looked up and stared back at you. the attention startled you, the smallest sneer that pulled at his lips discomfited you greatly. what was more startling, and possibly your worst observation, was the look in his eyes.
the same storm the desk ladies used to talk about, when they talked about you, was there. that freak was reborn, you were sure of it. the only difference? a freak in a family of freaks is nothing, the ordinary becomes an alien.
how did he manage it? to fit in so quickly? you were both fish out of water, adapting to your new surroundings (unfamiliar surroundings, you correct yourself, you’ve been here for years now), but where he got an aquarium, you got a plastic bag filled with water.
you observed from the gaps between the staircase railings, how he culled his accent and matched his mannerisms to bruce’s. he adapted, integrated into the elite gothamite-society. you’d just frozen the time around you, remaining the same ghoulish child, in a bigger body, with little bones. jealousy ate up at you, dissolving the cobwebs in your unfeeling self and making space for new, unwelcome feelings
for a while, you went mad. nobody noticed you did. your neck, and shoulders burned, ears pulsing with doubts, chest heaving in tension. a pebble of sorts formed in your throat; urging you to vomit even when there was nothing you could throw up.
you couldn’t change this. you couldn’t change who you were. what you are. bruce took in dick, he took in jason, cassandra and tim, damian’s mother loved him and his father loves him dearly. you were forced upon them, made to haunt their manor like a ghost from an old movie- a curse. you couldn’t change who you were, a gothamite gargoyle, useless next to dying sisters and and a wild beast to unsuspecting, kind people.
you were a punishment, on their family, contributing to nothing good- not once in your life. bruce must despise you, alfred must loathe having to care for one more person, one far more ungrateful than the rest. you can’t even imagine how your siblings feel about having to see this stranger in their house. and you know you’re a stranger, the way they hesitate in the middle of their conversations when you walk in, the way damian still glances at you with a frown, despite having “sobered”, the way jason’s- so alienated and other, presence seems more natural than you… you know how horrifying it is to be an ordinary stranger.
a gargoyle, a ghoul, a ghost. too polished to return to your life in the common streets and too out-of-place to colour yourself as one of them. there’s no place for you here, and none anywhere else, that’s your punishment.
you finish your apple, suddenly aware of tears that prick at your eyes. you wipe them away quickly, no, you refuse to cry over such silly things. there are so many far more unfortunate people out there. you have no right to be miserable. none.
dick, bruce and damian wayne walk away, and a million years still haven't passed. you try to rest your head against the bush-pillar, but your hair catches on twigs and nettles. this is your punishment.
the second minute passes painfully, while you tug frizzing hair out of the leaves.
˖ 𑣲 a/n: it's so cool getting to upload these in queue, 'cause it somehow feels like i'm playing into the whole "time dilation" feel from the start bit lol. is the lack of dialogue a bit much? i will write conversations, i guess right now the style needs it for 'recounting' bits. anyway, thank you for reading!
taglist: @lettucel0ver @marsmabe @alishii @1abi @c4xcocoa @bbmgirll @sirenetheblogger @privatebumblebee @noone1233nobody @4ishere @mev-fizzah-writes @quack-a-vasion @myjumper @pix-stuff @callenreesevzx @cupid73 @nininehaaa @nisarelle @jjsmeowthie @ollyissleepy @uppersurper @angwngss
#saria's 💤 writing#saria 💤 says#'25 run: crow choir#batfam x reader#angst#batfamily#batsis reader#batman fanfiction#batboys x batsis#batsis!reader#damian wayne x batsis#batfam x batsis#bruce wayne x batsis#jason todd x batsis#batfam#dick grayson x batsis#dc x reader#neglected reader#bruce wayne x reader#dick grayson x reader#jason todd x reader#tim drake x reader#cassandra cain x reader#damian wayne x reader#barbara gordon x reader#x reader#x male reader#x gn reader
434 notes
·
View notes
Text
"And what the hell were we?"

summary: lando and you have known each other for most of your lives, he was your best friend and you were his. what happens when you both have too many glassesof wine? or where lando and reader live together and they end up drunkly kissing after his monaco win.
warnings: smut, 18+ only!! soft sex, praise kink, best friends to lovers, lando is soft in this one, piv, unprotected sex (wrap your willy, silly), reader is a virgin, virginity loss, fingering, fluff, angst if you squint. maybe bad writing(?).
author's note: i'm writing the streamer!max thing, but this idea came to my mind and i reallyyyy had to write it. hope you guys enjoy, <3. not proofread!!
Living with Lando was... Convenient. You two had known each other since you were little kids. Your parents were long term friends with Lando's, so it was obvious you two would grow up together.
He was a constant in your life, he was always there. From your first day of kindergarten, to your last day of high school. So when he moved to Monaco, you went together. You didn't plan on actually living together, but it was convenient.
He needed someone to take care of the house while he was away for racing, you needed a place to stay. You both trusted each other enough for that, so why not? You two quickly found a place big enough to fit both of you.
You had your room, Lando had his. The apartment had stuff from the both of you, it was balanced in a way only two people who had known each other for long knew how. It was comfortable, cozy. It felt like home.
You and Lando were really close. Really, really close. People always joked about you two, saying how cute you two would look as a couple.
But you knew Lando wasn't exactly your type and you weren't exactly his. Not that it mattered. In your head, nothing could ever happen between you two. You two were only friends! It had always been like that and it always would.
It was one of those weeks Lando was away for a Grand Prix, the first one of the european triple header. Imola, as far as you could remember, and then Monaco before going to Spain. Only one week until he was home again. Great, you really needed his help with some stuff.
You try to keep the house as clean as you can, on a daily basis, but this past week was so busy to you, you weren't able to do house chores. So, considering it was Saturday, nothing much important to watch besides qualifying, you put on some music and start cleaning everything.
You were deep into the song, cleaning the dust of one of the shelves, when you accidentally knock a picture of the two of you over, the delicate frame breaks in a sound that makes your heart almost jump.
You quickly get off the stairs and pick up the frame in your hands. It wasn't really broken, but it wasn't perfect. The frame had seen better days. A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you see it's still 90% intact, so you put it back on the shelf.
Your fingers linger on the writings on the frame, a small smile forming on your lips. It was a picture of you and him, both of you were somewhere along the lines of 13 years old. It was one of those family trips you had, the ones you missed from your teenage years.
God, you really missed Lando. When you were younger and he was in his karting days, it was easy for you to go to the races with him. It was still easy when he started on Formula 1, when both of you lived with your parents. But, then, you two moved to Monaco and you found a job.
Time was not something either of you had much. So seeing each other became harder and harder, those little bantering and funny moments you had as friends became rare. You missed Lando, you missed your best friend. But you understood it, you really did. He was following his dreams and you were following yours, it was okay. For an extent.
Shaking your head, you let go of the frame and go back at taking off the dust. Once you finish everything, you throw yourself on the couch and turn the TV on. Better to distract yourself with something silly than let your mind wander.
The weekend passed in a hurry and, soon enough, Lando was already back home. You hear the familiar sound of the door closing and his footsteps echoing through the apartment. You were in your room, finishing some stuff from work, but as soon as you hear it, you rush to the living room.
He was there. White t-shirt, curls falling on his forehead, that smile on his face. He was home. And you were in his arms as soon as he put his bags down. You really missed him. And he missed you, too.
His arms wrap tightly around you, his smile only growing. He missed you so much. It was kind of weird to not have you around most of the time. Even if he didn't want to admit, it felt like a part of him was missing. A part he really cared about.
Of course you two always texted and had those long calls whenever you could, but it wasn't the same thing. You both longed for each other more than you would ever admit. You told yourself it was only because of habit, that this longing wasn't something more.
You two finally let go of each other, his smile turning into a smirk. "So... You did miss me, huh?"
His voice was teasing, full of that familiar mischief Lando seemed to not have left behind in your teenage years. Such a silly boy. You roll your eyes at him, pushing him lightly.
"Who said I missed you? I actually was just cleaning my hands on you. I was eating chips, y'know?"
The lie was obvious, but you would never say the truth. Not when he would get all cocky and arrogant if you did.
"Yeah, yeah. Chips. Totally believable."
Lando knew you better than everyone else, but he decided to let this little lie pass. After all, he was tired after the travel. He still had two days until his duties as a driver, so he wanted to relax as much as he could.
He passes through you, bumping into your body as he walked, that smug smirk on his face. "I'm going to sleep a little bit, I'm too tired for this now."
With a roll of your eyes, you let him go without any more words. But it doesn't take long for you to go to your room, too. You would steal him from everyone else in those two days, it was only fair you gave him a little bit of time to relax.
After all, you really needed him to fix some stuff on the house. And to do stuff with you, of course.
The moment he parks the car in that first place spot, the whole world seem to disappear. Even if there were people screaming, even if there were cameras all around you, you could only see him. Your best friend, the one you trusted the most, winning in Monaco.
He fucking won in Monaco! The pride you were feeling was immeasurable. You wanted to cry, to scream, but you were frozen in llace, eyes teary and mind hazy. You push your way through people, going straight to him.
He sees you approach, his eyes locked on yours. He seemed as happy as ever, in his element. You didn't care of he was sweaty, smelly or anything like that at all.
No, you give him the tightest hug of his life. Ignoring all of the cameras, all of the people watching you both, you feel at ease. His spark was coming back.
You let him wander through the rest of the people, whispering to him that you would see him later and that he should enjoy his win. His heart was beating so fast, he didn't want to pull away. But he does, anyways.
"I promise I will talk to you later."
You nod, a proud smile on your face. You knew he wouldn't forget about you. He was your best friend, after all.
After podium celebrations are over, you two go home, a nice chat flowing between you two. He was sparkling, glowing with happiness. And his happiness made you happy, too.
The ride home doesn't take long, it's Monaco. And, before you know it, you two are sitting on the couch, each with a glass of wine in your hands. This was your third glass, your mind way too fuzzy already.
"Lan, you should really go party if you want to. I don't mind, I swear."
"I don't know what you mean. I'm exactly where I want to be."
It was not like this was the first time you got drunk with him, but something about this was... Different. The tone of his voice, the way his curls fell to his face, how his words carried a little hint of flirtiness on them... It was normal, yet so different.
Maybe it was your fuzzy mind. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. But you were seeing Lando with different eyes, your mind going through paths it never went before. You try to shake the thoughts away, but it doesn't work at all.
He notices how distant you seemed for a bit. Lando also had his fair share of wine, he was just as tipsy as you. He never intended to flirt with you, but some things just happen. It's life, we can't control how it works. And you looked so pretty with McLaren's jersey, it should be a crime.
Lando clears his throat, his eyes drifing from your pretty lips to your intense eyes. The ones that, once eye contact is made, it's hard to not look into. It must be the wine, right? That's messing with his head, making him see stuff he shouldn't be seeing.
And, suddenly, he is brought back to your teenage years, to when it was hard to control himself around you. It wanders to how it felt to secretly desire you, the hormones messing with him as much as the alcohol is now.
He shakes his head, focusing on you and the way your breath seemed to pick up. The room felt hot, too hot. It wasn't how it was supposed to be. The couch never felt so small.
"I... You just won in Monaco, you deserve to party." Your voice was low, weak, rough. As if you were holding back. As if you didn't really want to say what was in your heart.
The air around you two was cackling with a tension you two were unfamiliar with. Never once between you two this seemed to happen. Never once you desired each other. Well. At least you.
"You know I don't want to party. Not without you." His voice was charged, his words carrying some secret meaning your fuzzy brain was fighting hard to deny. "I want to be with you."
He puts his glass on the small table in front of the couch, his eyes canning your face for any signs of discomfort or want. He wanted you more than he would care to admit. He wanted you to want him so bad.
Your breath hitches, your hands slightly shaky and that strange buzzing feeling in your lower belly marking its presence within you. His gaze was intense, full of years of repressed feelings. Feelings you never noticed until now.
"Lan..." He approaches you, ever so slowly, his right hand cupping your cheek while his left one rests on one of your thighs. Your heart was beating fast, the heat was hard to ignore.
Your thighs clench unconsciously, his left hand drifting closer to your core. But he doesn't touch you. Not yet. He looks into your eyes, almost begging for your approval. He wanted you to want this as much as he did.
"Can I?"
His voice was measured, a bit rougher than normal, and a nod of your head was all it took for him to glue his lips to yours. You melt into the kiss, arms wrapping around his neck and hands fidgeting with his hair.
The kiss was slow, full of emotions you were both too drunk to explain. His lips felt softer than they should, he tasted like the wine you two were drinking. It was intoxicating and so intimate.
His hands go to your waist, pulling you into his lap in a desperate try to get more of you. You whine into his mouth, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. He kisses you like you're the last person he would ever kiss, full of passion.
Once you two pull away, Lando starts planting kisses down your neck, goosebumps trailing down your spine as soft gasps left your lips. His right hand lifts your shirt and you help him take it off with ease.
Looking at you on his lap, your bra being the only thing covering your chest, he thought you were the most beautiful woman to ever exist. With one nod of your head, he takes your bra off, his breath catching on his throat.
"So beautiful, baby... Can't believe I never made any moves on you."
His tongue licks your left nipple, a soft moan leaving your lips. You were so sensitive. Nobody ever touched you this way. Nobody got this close to you before. You couldn't believe Lando, your best friend of years, was the one doing this.
But you didn't mind. Not at all.
"Lan... Please, I have never..." You were ashamed. Your cheeks were tinted a light shade of pink, your chest raising and falling as he looks up at you once again.
Even if you were drunk, you were conscious enough to remember the details about your life. But the look Lando gave you... How fucking gentle he seemed... It was driving you crazy. You needed him. You wanted him.
"I know, baby, I know. I promise I'll be gentle... Do you trust me?" You nod, but that's not enough for you. His right hand squeezes one of your breasts gently. "Use your words, baby."
"Y-yes... Please, Lan, I want you. Only you. It has always been you."
Your little cry goes straight to his cock. Lando's mouth is immediately back on your breast, sucking the soft flesh and lightly scraping his teeth in your nipples. It felt so good. It was so different from when you tried to pleasure yourself with your hands.
He stands up with you, your legs wrapping around his waist as his firm hands keep holding you. He takes you to his bedroom, gently laying tou down on his queen-sized bed. He kisses you again, gentle, soft. He wanted you to savour the moment, to enjoy it even more than him.
His fingers trail down your body, slipping into your pants and underwear as soon as you nod at his silent question. Lando's breath hitches when he feels how wet you are, his point finger spreading your slickness through your pussy.
He pulls your underwear down along with your pants, taking it off of you and leaving you bate before him. He looks up at you one more time, wanting to see if you were really sure about that. The smile you give him is enough as a yes.
Slowly, torturously, he inserts a finger in your cunt. It makes you gasp. His finger was so much thicker than yours, it was a new sensation. You had never felt this before. He pumps the finger in and out, mesmerized by how tight you were and how your cunt seemed to suck his finger in.
"Look at you... So damn pretty. Want to feel that tight cunt squeezing my cock. You'll take it like a good girl, hm?"
His words were filthy. But they made you blush. You felt seen, desired. Only Lando could make you feel like this, like you wanted more. He puts another finger in, curling his fingers just in the right way. A broken moan leaves your lips, your back arching.
He plants a kiss on your inner thigh before licking a long stripe on your pussy. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, it felt so good. He sucks your clit while working his fingers inside of you. It didn't take long for you to come all over him, a strangled moan leaving your lips.
"Such a sweet cunt for such a sweet girl. Fuck, baby... Can I fuck you? Take that pretty pussy?" His voice was low, charged with need. You were so beautiful, so perfect.
He takes his fingers off of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness. "Please, Lan... Need you so bad."
He finally undresses, his toned body making your mouth water. His cock springs free and you gasp audibly. He was so big. It would never fit. Lando notices how worried you seem, kissing your cheeks softly.
"It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."
Slowly, he starts putting his cock in. Inch by agonizing inch. You whine in a bit of pain, holding his hand tightly. He coos you, kissing the few tears that spilled from your eyes away. Once he bottoms out, he stays still, waiting for you to adjust to him.
It was too much. You had never felt so full. Soon, the pain starts to drift away and leave way to the building pleasure. Lando feels you clench around him, a moan leaving your lips, so he starts moving slowly against you.
"So tight, baby. Feels so good." His thrusts were slow, but deep, hitting all of the right spots inside of you. You moan his name, chanting it like you were caught in a spell. He finds your g-spot, your back arching and a loud moan spilling from you.
It felt so, so, so, so good. You were drunk on him and how he felt inside of you. His right hand finds your clit, your own hands resting on his shoulders and scratching his back at the new-found pleasure. You cry out, your high approaching once again.
"Lando, I will--- Oh, shit!"
Your eyes roll back, your back arches even more. Your cunt clenches around his cock, your orgasm triggering his own as he spills his seed deep into you.
"Fuck, such a good girl." He talks you through your orgasm, his thrusts slowing down until they fully stop.
He pulls out, leaving your panting form on the bed to go get a clean towel. He cleans you gently, knowing how sensitive you are, then cleans himself. He lays down besides you, peppering your face with little kisses that make you giggle.
Nothing much is said between you both and you soon fall asleep.
You wake up in Lando's shirt, your body sore and his side of the bed cold. The curtains were slightly pulled aside, some rays of sunlight entering the room and casting a cozy glow inside of it.
You hear footsteps approaching, Lando stopping by the door as he notices how you're already woken up.
"Hey... Sorry for leaving. Making breakfast." He was holding a small tray, a plate with some pancakes, fruits and toast on it alongside a mug of what seemed to be either coffee or hot chocolate.
You sit up in bed and he puts the tray in your lap, sitting beside you on the bed. You murmur a small "thank you", not really knowing what else to say.
Last night changed everything between you and Lando, that's for sure. But, if the way he was looking at you was any sign, it really changed. For the better. <3
#f1#f1 smut#formula one smut#f1 x reader#formula one#formula one x reader#ln4 smut#lando norris smut#lando norris x reader#lando norris#chase yaps#ln x reader#ln4 x reader
561 notes
·
View notes
Note
reader x oscar where oscar reconnects with a old female friend and kind of neglects reader a little bit, at the beginning y/n gets hurt but ends up deciding to get a male friend to “make things even” so oscar gets really jealous, realizes what he’s been doing and tries to make things right? happy ending pls and maybe don’t make reader forgive him that easily?



second place
pairing: oscar piastri x reader
summary: in which you feel mia is more important than you…
warnings: none
you didn’t expect things to change so quickly.
one minute, you and oscar were solid — late-night facetimes, good luck kisses before qualifying, sleepy grins under hotel duvets. being with him felt like quiet gravity. not loud or dramatic, just right. steady.
and then came mia.
the girl from karting days. the one who could talk race setups and tire strategies in the same breath she joked about oscar’s twelve-year-old mullet.
you weren’t threatened at first. oscar had always been honest. you weren’t insecure.
but it’s hard to stay secure when you go three days without more than a “hey, sorry, busy today” text… and then check instagram to see him tagged in a selfie with her, laughing over sushi.
you didn’t confront him right away. you weren’t that person. you trusted him — or at least, you wanted to.
but when you showed up at the paddock that friday, his reaction said everything.
he didn’t light up the way he used to.
he smiled — polite, distracted. his arm slung around mia’s shoulders like second nature.
you didn’t know whether to feel angry or embarrassed.
maybe both.
you brought it up that night, quietly, after dinner.
“she’s really been around a lot lately.”
oscar shrugged, pulling his shirt over his head. “yeah, she’s doing a piece for f1tv. like, a feature thing. it’s temporary.”
you nodded. “just… feels like you’ve kind of forgotten i exist.”
he froze for a second. “y/n, come on. don’t start this.”
that was what hurt the most — not the time he was spending with her. the fact that he brushed off your pain. as if it wasn’t real.
you went to bed with your back to him. he didn’t reach for you.
you didn’t plan to make him jealous.
you didn’t even think of marcus that way — not at first.
he was the boy who used to walk you home from school, steal fries from your lunch tray, accidentally-on-purpose hold your hand during horror movies.
you hadn’t seen him in years. but when you bumped into him at a café near the paddock, it felt like a reset. like someone was seeing you again.
like you weren’t invisible.
oscar didn’t notice you were smiling more that weekend.
but he did notice marcus.
especially when you invited him to the post-race celebration. especially when marcus leaned close to tell you a joke, and you laughed with your whole body — the way you used to laugh with oscar.
he caught your wrist later that night, voice tense. “is this supposed to be a message?”
you stared at him. “no. but i guess it’s working.”
the fight came two days later.
oscar had been cold. distant. until he snapped.
“so what, you just bring some guy around to get my attention? that’s mature.”
your blood ran hot. “don’t pretend you have the high ground when you’ve been mia’s shadow for three weeks!”
“she’s a friend, y/n!”
“so is marcus! or is it only okay when you’re the one doing the ignoring?”
oscar looked at you like he didn’t recognize you. and you realized — he didn’t. because he hadn’t really seen you in weeks.
“i don’t care about mia,” he said, voice strained.
“but you cared more about making her laugh than asking if i was okay.”
that shut him up.
it took time after that.
oscar started showing up again — really showing up.
small things. bringing you coffee before interviews. watching your face instead of his phone. apologizing, not with flowers, but by listening.
you let him back in slowly. not because he begged — but because he changed.
and one night, while you sat on his balcony overlooking monaco’s coast, his fingers laced with yours, he said:
“i got used to you always being there. like i couldn’t lose you. like you’d always wait.”
you didn’t answer right away.
then: “don’t give me a reason to leave, and i won’t.”
his hand tightened in yours. “you’re not second place. not to anyone. not ever again.”
you believed him. not because he said it — but because this time, he meant it.
taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!
#f1#f1 x reader#f1 fluff#f1 angst#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#formula 1#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fic#formula 1 imagine#formula one fanfiction#formula one#formula one x y/n#formula one x reader#formula one imagine#formula one x you#oscar piastri#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri fluff#op81#op81 x reader#op81 imagine#op81 fic#mclaren
769 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi again i'm the Anon who asked if you take commisions only or requests as well. I love your writing style<3
Soo could you write about Batmom reader, where reader took care of bruce's children as her own. But then bruce gets a mistress, reader still stays becuz of the kids but when everyone started to become cold to her and insult her ' X (mistress) is better mom then you ever were' she leaves gonthem. Then everyone realises she (mistress) was just after their money. They go to batmom's room to apologize only to find it empty. They try to find her everywhere but couldn't. And finally when they do, reader rejects them since she was having the time of her life without responsibilty but gets kiddnapped by the batfam?
Honestly i wanted to commision but i'm flat broke and i'm too busy studying to work and on top of that i don't have my own phone (i use my dad's old laptop) soo yeah... I hope you consider this.
A/N: Loooove this request thank you for sending it in <3 fem reader yandere themes lmk if you want a part two
The (L/n)'s were a wealthy and prominent family in Gotham, right up there with the Wayne's when it came to power over the city, the two families were in business together which is why when Bruce Wayne personal attorney came to you with a marriage proposal, you weren't surprised.
A marriage of convenience. You thought you knew what this would entitle, you knew this wasn't out of love, that this was required of you, it had nothing to do with what you actually wanted, but you were dutiful and signed, inking your name on the paper felt like a deal with the devil.
Bruce hadn't bothered to officially meet you until the day of the wedding, it was beautiful and well done but lacking any form of love of affection, CEOs and other rich folk you didn't recognize filled the pews, the ring felt cold when he slipped it on, his vows perfectly rehearsed, and not an ounce of warmth in his eyes, you knew that night you should have annulled the marriage, but something made you hold on, something your mother had said to you as the makeup artist turned you into the visage of a bride.
"You'll learn to love each other, your father and I did after all." And she wasn't lying, your parents married for convenience as well but had grown to love one another, so maybe you could do the same?
A year after the nuptials Dick Grayson is thrust into your life. Haley's circus was famous in Gotham for its incredible death defying shows, but on this night death would walk the stage, taking with them Dick Grayson's parents in a horrible display, You and Bruce had consoled the boy for only a moment before Bruce was talking to the officers, he'd decided Dick was coming home with you, of course without asking your opinion, but it didn't matter, you felt such pity and grief for the boy, it made perfect sense to you, he was shut down for the first few months, he called you by your name and you had no problem with it, making it clear you never wanted to try and replace his mother, the ice between you two melted one day, one kind word at a time, he couldn't help but confide in you about school or his friends, because you were more emotionally there than Bruce was.
Like the night you caught him sneaking out, a packed bag in hand and the keys to one of Bruce's many cars in his hand. Instead of yelling for Bruce or Alfred you simply smiled at him, "you should take the audi, it's the safest car here."
"..You're not going to try and stop me?"
You shake your head no, still offering that kind smile.
"You know yourself best Dick, if you're unhappy here I won't stop you from finding your peace." He took a moment before tossing you the keys and reluctantly making his way back inside.
You find out about Batman because of Dick. He'd come home with some nasty bruises and it wouldn't take long to put two and two together. Them both being missing at the same time, Dick started to pull away from you, one night, after hours of trying to get to sleep in a bed much to big for one body, your legs decided a walk was necessary, the halls were dark and quiet, giving the manor an eerie air, quietly you walked the long hallways intending on stopping by the library, as you turned the corner you seen Dick in a hidden elevator, the doors just slamming shut as your eyes tried to register what was there. Seconds after the doors close a wall appears, as if nothing was ever there. It's not long after that you see a brief news clip of the caped crusader and his new sidekick, because the longer you stared at the screen, the more familiar they began to look, that dead tight lipped scowl on Batman's face, it was one you'd had the pleasure of looking at for the past few years.
That night you confronted Bruce, he seemed surprised you'd figured it out, but he didn't deny it. Simply saying, "It's late (Y/n), get some sleep."
You nearly divorced him then and there for endangering a child the way he was, but after a moment of thought, you realized Dick would need a real parent around so you stayed, making Bruce swear to be careful.
Jason comes next and he takes to you a lot faster than Dick. He craved the warmth you offered, you two had inside jokes and a closer relationship than him and Bruce, but that all changes the day he dies. You're broken, a ghost haunting the manor with your presence, and Bruce is no comfort throwing himself into the Batman role, you begin to hate him a little with this particular betrayal.
Tim was another hard egg to crack but you were desperate after Jason's death, so you took his verbal lashings with a smile, were always there to offer a helping hand with any of his projects despite the help never being accepted. Tims wound from losing his father is too raw, he takes a lot of his anger out on you. And you weathered the storm with a soft, warm smile.
Damian hated you, from the moment he arrives, which is bitter enough as is because it meant Bruce was unfaithful, he's spitting out insults and comparing you to his 'perfect' mother.
Things weren't great in your life, but one day they started getting noticably worse. Dick no longer responded to your check in texts, Jason (now reanimated which was a heart attack in and of itself) saw you as the enemy, you didn't leave Bruce after what happened to him, so in his eyes you betrayed him, Tim ignored your existence as best as he could, and Damian? He'd started staring at you with this smug look on his face, like he knew something you didn't.
Bruce had all but ran from you, he didn't sleep in your shared room anymore, he barely spoke to you at breakfast, if it wasn't for the cameras he wouldn't touch you.
And it's all because of a woman named Rachel.
Apparently Bruce had introduced this woman to the family, bringing her around when you weren't, slowly replacing you, it was no wonder they started to pull back.
Alfred is the only reason you find out, having enough of the blatant disrespect, he calls you to come home early one day saying it's a dire matter. Of course you comply, and walk in on a discomforting sight. The whole family was gathered at the dining room table, plus a woman you'd never seen before, she sat close to Bruce, toying with his hand intimately. Her green eyes lock with yours and the smile she gives you forms a pit in your stomach.
There's silence before Bruce stands up, he walks over calmly, "Can we take this in the other room." But it wasn't phrased as a question.
"No" you licked your lips, a nervous habit from your youth. Bruce seemed taken back by your sudden backbone. He nods silently.
"I want her gone Bruce. I am your wife. You will show me that semblance of respect."
"I- of course." You don't wait for the words to settle instead, you calmly walk to your room, face unreadable.
Locking the door behind you, your body slides against the frame, a silent sob wracks your frame, your hands covering your mouth, you wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing your cries.
The next morning you wake up to breakfast in bed, a generic yet elegant spread of food lay on a tray in the empty spot Bruce used to stay. The man himself sitting in the chair beside the bed, staring at you with that practiced smile he used to appease people.
"Good morning."
"What's this?" You sat up straight, sleep evaporating from your form as you took in the threat before you.
"An apology. I never meant for yesterday to happen."
"What a comfort that is." Your piercing (e/c) eyes stare at him blankly, unreadable. "How long."
"A year." You scoff pushing the breakfast away from you like it was poisonous. "But its not what you think, Rachel is a childhood friend, a year ago our relationship, evolved into what it is now, but I was never intending to go behind your back."
"Ah of course, your intentions were pure." The words dripped venom, grabbing your robe you quickly dress before standing and walking to the door, "Thank you for the wonderful talk Bruce, really your people skills are top notch." Your hands gesture to the door. He leaves without a word.
The rest of the day is as usual, Bruce avoids you like the plague, the rest of the family acted as if you weren't there. Which made leaving all too easy.
Your lawyers had the divorce papers ready and hour after you called them, signing them felt like the first act of self love you'd done in years. Slipping them into Bruce's study you took the time to analyze the room you never entered.
It matched Bruce that's for sure, pictures of every single person in the family. All except for you.
Walking out the door, wrapped in your ankle length black faux fur coat, the garment whipped in the wind, the designer sunglasses on your face hid your eyes from the world, hair in a slicked back bun, your heels echoed against the pavement, a sleek black car was waiting for you, you look back at the house that had caused you so much misery then got in the back of the car, never looking back.
Life goes on for about a week, your absence goes unnoticed, that is before Rachel is trying and failing to blackmail Bruce out of a billion dollars, she'd collected evidence he was cheating on you with her and presented it to Bruce with a grin, it was only as he went through the pictures of himself and Rachel, did he notice the yellow envelope with his name written on the front.
Hey puts the heartbreaking matter of Rachel's betrayal on the back burner, Bruce opened the envelope and felt his heart completely stop at the word divorce written in bold lettering across the top, your signature was already there, waiting for his to join it.
Ignoring Rachel completely now he turns in his chair, turning the paper over and over as if it would magically change. But it remained the same. Alfred knocking on the door of his study broke him from his trance. "Master Wayne, miss Rachel." He says the latter's name with no warmth. "Escort Rachel to her car Alfred."
"Bruce have you heard a word I've said? I'm serious I'll go to Gotham daily right now if you don't -"
"Now Alfred."
That was all it took for the screaming woman to be firmly escorted off the premises. Bruce all but ran to your room, he didn't bother knocking, and despite knowing in his heart you were already gone, he couldn't help but check anyway.
Your room was empty and cold, he couldn't believe the date he'd read on the divorce papers, it was dated a week ago, meaning you'd been gone for a week and he hadn't noticed. No one had.
That is until Bruce remembers there's someone in the house nothing gets by.
"How long have you known she was gone Alfred?" He asks leaning on his knuckles the divorce papers stared back at him taunting him. "Since the moment she left." The older man replied simply his hands behind his back. "Why didn't you tell me immediately?" Bruce felt himself tense, "Because you've hurt that woman enough Bruce. She deserves at least this." He gestures to the daunting divorce paperwork before turning to leave Bruce with his thoughts.
The news of Rachel's betrayal shook the manor each member feeling violated by their trust being broken. But it was nothing compared to their reaction once they finally realized you were gone.
"That was rough." Jason says after watching Rachel being dragged out of the manor, he blew air out of his cheeks arms crossed over his chest, he looked towards the hallway that lead to your room, you had to have heard that he thought to himself.
Dick sighs through his nose, "Someone should check on (y/n), Rachel was screaming so loud she definitely heard that." No one volunteers so Dick rolls his eyes and heads towards your room.
He lifts his hands to knock but noticed the door was open, pushing it further he's met with a baren room, his brow furrowed in confusion before he makes his way to Bruce's study. "Hey B, have you seen (y/n)? Her room is like weirdly empty."
Dick found his Father where Alfred left him, leaning over the divorce papers silently a storm in his eyes.
As he steps closer and reads the paperwork Bruce was staring so intently at, his heart stopped.
"Holy shit- are those real?"
"Yes." Bruce finally spoke his voice horse. There was a moment of silence before Dick left the room practically running down the stairs to alert the others.
"(Y/n) left Bruce." He said still processing the information, "No fuckin' way." Jason says pushing himself off the counter he leaned on. "Her room is empty and he has the papers, she's gone."
Each member of the family had different reactions to this information.
Dick tries calling you only to be met with a disconnected number, his heart hammering in his chest, he wasn't as close to you as when he was younger sure, but you were a constant in his life, always had been, a pillar of support, and suddenly you weren't. It felt like the floor had gotten pulled out from under him.
Jason curses under his breath, his mind working a mile a minute, he had barely spoken to you since his Resurrection, something he deeply regretted as the information of your leaving sinks in like a brick thrown into a river.
Tim, ever calculating is trying to figure out where you went, you were a figurehead in his life, someone that was literally never not there, sure he wasn't close to you in the slightest but that doesn't mean he wants anything to happen to you, someone as quiet and soft as you on your own in Gotham? It didn't sit well with him. Not one bit.
Damian didn't know what he was feeling at the news, he supposed he should feel nothing, after all you were nothing to him, but there was this nagging feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite place. And he hated it. How dare you leave and upset his fragile ecosystem?
Meanwhile in the Bahamas, far from Gotham and the neglectful family you'd left behind, you sat lounging on a private beach, a knitted hammock cradles your body, a designer baby pink bikini covers you, a matching sunhat protects your face from the hot sun, you can't wipe the smile from your face, humming a tune from your childhood you barely flinch when someone takes the seat besides your hammock.
"Do I want to know how you found me?" You ask, eyes still closed as you bask in the warmth. You knew only one person had the sources to find you on your own island, and despite how much you resent the man, even his presence can't ruin your shine in this moment.
"You're my wife (Y/n), I'll always know where you are." Bruce speaks softly as if trying not to startle you. "Former wife." You correct cracking an eye open, a small smirk curling on your lips.
"Not until I sign those papers- which I never will."
"huh, I thought you'd be thrilled." You muse to yourself before folding your tanning mirror and setting it aside, you take off your Louis Vuitton sunglasses, blinking your pretty (e/c) eyes up at him, "Figured you and your little Twinkie would have tied the knot by now." You laugh softly, the sound, unfamiliar to Bruce, sent warm shivers down his spine, it causes his lips to quirk up in a small grin.
"She's gone."
"Well, I don't care."
There's a beat of silence before he's offering you his hand. "Will you walk with me? I know I don't deserve it."
You sigh before getting up, ignoring his hand, you nod your head reluctantly, "Well? Hurry up I've got dinner at six."
His smile remains as he begins leading you along the shoreline. It's relatively quiet between you two as you walk side by side, a peace between you both you hadn't ever felt. "The manor isn't the same without you." He breaks the silence, "I sincerely doubt that." You laugh at the very notion. "It's true- it's colder, quieter, I want you to come home."
"That was never my home, you made that abundantly clear."
He winces as if your words cut him, "I know I haven't been a good man to you, I know I've failed you time and time again but I..I looked at those divorce papers and my heart stopped." He admits running a hand through his hair.
"You can't leave me."
"I can't?." You scoff, your movement halting, "I'm a grown woman- I'm taking responsibility for my own happiness, you can't stop me."
"I wasn't asking." He says softly, his hands in his pockets, he had this fond look on his face, like he was staring at you for the first time, in a whole new light. "You can't make me." You say, brows furrowed, "You belong back home, you're supposed to be with me, till death do us part, remember?" He steps forward making you step back, your eyes wide, hands shaking, you back into a wide chest, spinning to face Dick, who's grinning at you, he's in his Nightwing costume, he gives you a small wave of his hand, you scrunch your face in confusion, "What the hell-" your thought is cut off by a small pinch in your neck, the needle in Bruce's hand is empty in seconds, he's cradling your stumbling form, holding you tightly, "Don't worry - I'll fix this."
Your sleeping body is gently carried to the batplane, Bruce holding you close to his chest as Dick pilots the plane, he whispers promises into your hair, rocking you against him as he swears on his life to make things right, weather you liked it or not.
#yananswers#anon submission#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere dc imagine#yandere dc x reader#yandere batfam x reader#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batfamily#yandere bruce wayne x reader#yandere jason todd x reader#yandere dick grayson x reader#yandere tim drake x reader#yandere damian wayne x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Switched At Birth (Part Five)
A/N: So I've been a little busy. Work, school, etc. This one's a bit shorter but hopefully you guys like it. Wanted to get more into the yandere aspect of the story with Melissa's thoughts. Also sorry if my taglist is a mess, I'm still figuring out Tumblr etiquette.
Taglist (I'll add you if you ask):@luludeluluramblings, @von-jour, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @kenyummy, @bunniotomia, @ch1cky-093, @toxicthotsyndrome68
Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere!Wayne!OC
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
It was only after Melissa had gone home, with a bag of thrifted clothing and another solely for her new dress, that she noticed it.
You left your scrunchie with her.
It felt like satin and was a baby blue color.
You had used it to pin her hair back as you did her makeup with some drug store brands. “Totally a spring— I knew it”, you said as you gently dusted blush on her cheeks, your breath curling around the nape of her neck.
The most reasonable thing to do would be to give it back to you, the next time she saw you.
But…when would “next time” be?
She had heard that plenty of times. “Next time”, Dick promised when she asked if he could go out with her.
“Next time,” her father had said about dinner.
Next time. Next time. Next time.
So she didn’t give it back.
Turning it over in her hands, her thumb brushed over the faint warmth still trapped in the fabric. Just a whisper of it— but your presence was within the weave.
It wasn’t much. Just a scrunchie.
But you’d worn it. You touched her while wearing it. You laughed while twisting her hair up like it was second nature. And that laugh was still there, somewhere in the soft folds, if she listened closely enough.
She slipped it around her wrist, let it rest there like a bracelet.
Just until she saw you again, she told herself.
Only—she didn’t take it off.
The satin was cool against her pulse, a pale ribbon of proof.
Proof that you had been real.
That you had chosen her, even if just for an afternoon.
And maybe it was stupid, maybe she was reading into everything too much—but she didn’t care.
You saw her. You picked her. When no one else even noticed she was there.
Of course you didn’t mean to leave the scrunchie. But that didn’t matter.
Because now it was hers.
A thread that tied her to you.
In the inky stillness of her room, she fell asleep with it intertwined in her fingers.
The next morning, Melissa came down for breakfast. Everyone was gone, as usual, but Alfred was already waiting in the kitchen.
He always was.
However, today, there wasn’t just the morning paper—opened to the financial section— on the table. A laptop, it looked like Barbara’s, sat opened to the trending page on a tabloid site. A picture took up the screen: Melissa, standing awkwardly in a thrift store. You beside her, grinning like you owned the world. A blur of pink between you—the dress.
Alfred looked up when she entered the kitchen. Not judgemental or stern. Just… watchful.
He closed the laptop carefully.
“Miss Melissa”
She paused halfway to the fridge, “...yes?”
“May I assume your outing was enjoyable?”
Not what were you thinking? Not that was inappropriate. Just a simple question. Yet she hesitated.
“...Yes,” She answered carefully, halfheartedly scanning the contents of the fridge. “It was”
She didn’t elaborate further. Didn’t ask why Alfred was interested in social media for once, or why the tabloids thought teenagers hanging out was suddenly front page news. It must have been such a slow news day for the site that they actually remembered the Forgotten Wayne. Barbara always knew when one of them was mentioned anywhere on social media, so it must have been recent, too.
But…her chest tightened. Why did they have to know about you? Why now? When she found someone who chose her? It’s not like they knew who you actually were; just the “girl with cat socks” or “a public curiosity”.
Still, she didn’t like the way it felt. The way your name might now sit on the tongues of strangers, twisted and misinterpreted, picked apart by people who didn’t know you.
Alfred’s tone was light as he poured her tea—green with a dash of sugar, just how she liked it: “She seems like a nice young lady”
That made her think to herself as she stirred her tea aimlessly: did she know you either?
You told her the basics at the diner— you went to a public school, average grades, some friends, a house in the suburbs. Did you tell everyone else that? Did everyone know you the way she does?
The tea tasted more bitter than usual.
You weren’t for them. You were hers.
She didn’t say anything, at first. She didn’t plan for possessiveness. She didn’t get to plan far before everything seemed to dissolve in your wake. Plans seemed to just be like that—crisp and clean until they got wet and tore.
“She is,” She admits, finally. “Nice.”
Alfed inclined his head, accepting this answer. He pauses and waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. His eyes soften, in a way that grates at her skin, and lets the silent question dissipate.
Poor, little Melissa, she almost heard him think. So worried about her one and only friend.
She was used to this; as used as one could be. People just saw her as someone—something— to feel bad for.
Her warped reflection stared back from the tea cup.
They never really saw the rot just below the surface— and she was glad for that. No one had to see the disgusting bitterness she kept hidden. Even Alfred just saw her as yet another tragedy within the Wayne Manor,
Still, that wasn’t entirely useless.
If there could be yet another thing to tie her to you— her hand grazed the scrunchie on her wrist — wouldn’t that be even better?
Alfred watched her, not pointing out how the hair tie clashed with her uniform, and made a passing note.
“She does look strikingly similar— to who, I can’t quite say”
Melissa paused.
That’s right, she thought, you did look like that person.
She didn't leave her tea when she stood up, rather she took with her and walked past Alfred. In a practiced tone of submissiveness, Melissa confessed,
“I don’t know when I’ll see her again. We don’t go to the same school after all…”
And Alfred responded, his ever kind and patient self: “I will see if your invite to this month’s gala can be extended to one other person”.
Perfect.
As she retreated, she pulled out her cell phone. Typing and retyping, she sent out a message to you.
Hi-
Hello-
Hi, there’s a gala coming up– can you go with me?
She watched as the three little dots appeared and then disappeared before reappearing.
“If you want another makeover, you can just ask lol”
Melissa smiled to herself.
A/N: hehehe who's "that person"? It's probably pretty obvious if you follow @luludeluluramblings's posts but let's forget that and pretend I'm clever for now, okay? btw if you are waiting for some more Cult of the Lamb X Batfam stuff I'll be posting something soon. It's small but it's something.
#yandere#yandere blog#yandere core#yandere batfam#platonic yandere#yandere oc#original character#familial yandere#romantic yandere#yandere batfam X reader#yandere oc x reader#just let me ramble#switched at birth au
454 notes
·
View notes
Text
— return her favor.

ft. sakura haruka x reader. wc. 3.4k
summary. when he got sick at the beginning of the week, you took care of him. now, it's you who's sick —and it's his turn to return your favor. content. fem!reader, fem pronouns used, pure fluff, boy next door!sakura, everyone likes teasing the poor boy when he blushes. inspired by s2 ep17. a bit ooc, i think. author's note. im whipped. im down bad. im head over heels . i knowwwwiknow but hes just so cute icant.. love him sm.. little kitty boy (kaji too)... :(( also im not 100% happy with how this turned out but ive been thinking about a scene like this so much i needed to write it
𝜗𝜚 english isnt my first language, so any corrections or advice are highly appreciated, as well as feedback (please) ! enjoy

you are sick.
not figuratively —you really are. you’ve caught the flu, a nasty cold, or whatever virus that's left you bedridden, feverish, for so many hours that they feel like eternity.
when it started, you thought you were sneezing so frequently because you were allergic to something, since spring had just begun. however, it only got worse as the week went on, until you ended up in the state you’re in now.
body sprawled on the futon on the floor —your arm is folded in a weird way, your legs half under half out of the blanket—, it’s the only position you’ve found that lets you be even a little comfortable and breathe without choking every two minutes. your skin is paler than usual, except for your face, flushed pink and covered in a thin sweat layer.
you’re on the edge of delirium.
you should have seen this coming. no, you actually did see it coming, but you had such a busy week —working extra hours at the restaurant at nights, repainting the facade of the establishment after some vandals had graffitied the wall, assisting all your classes and doing all your homework—, you'd had no time for worrying about getting sick or getting medicine.
besides, taking into account that your daily life is on the other side of the city —you live in your apartment, if it can even be called like that, only because the rent is affordable for you—, the time you spend just going to school and work and coming back home takes a considerable part of your day.
plus, at the start of this week, your next door neighbor had gotten sick too —and every free time of your days had been spent on taking care of sakura.
you didn’t even think about the possibility of him giving you the flu until you woke up this morning. work was already hard yesterday —even your boss had sent you home before your shift ended, since he could see how tired you looked—, and you hadn't slept more than two full hours, so all you were able do in the morning was send a text to your coworkers to ask for someone to cover your shift today and fall asleep again.
four hours later of feverish dreams and a very uncomfortable mix of heat and cold going throughout your whole body, you are so thirsty and hungry you could eat a whole menu from the restaurant you work in. however, getting up seems almost impossible in the state you are in, so you let yourself lay under the blanket a while more.
you’re about to fall asleep again, ignoring the cries for help of your stomach, when you hear the door of your apartment open.
there’s no greeting, no warning, no announcement about who just entered without permission. but only a few people have a key to your place, so the list of suspects is short —still, of all the possible people, you definitely didn’t expect to see sakura haruka standing in the cramped little space that makes up your room.
“i brought you something.” is all he says before sitting cross-legged on the floor beside you, placing a plastic bag full of things in his lap and beginning to pull things out one by one.
sakura is your next-door neighbor. he moved to the apartment beside yours at the beginning of the school year, just as alone in his place as you were in yours. at first, he came off as cold —maybe even a little rude— but it didn’t take long for you to realize he was just shy, especially around people who offered help without expecting anything in return.
your first interaction had been on an especially cold evening during his first week living there. you had heard him through the wall, cursing softly and clearly frustrated —mumbling something about not figuring out how to get the hot water working. you were pretty sure he even punched the wall out of frustration after his third cold shower.
so you showed up at his door, holding a slice of leftover cake from the restaurant as a welcome gift and offering your help —partly because you’re a decent person, but mostly because you were worried the building might not survive more than a couple more punches.
“i can’t cook anything for you,” he's saying now. a few months have passed since you met “but i brought instant soup. i didn’t know what flavor you liked, so i grabbed one of each. just in case.”
he spreads the contents of the bag on the floor —six different packs of soup, a few bottles of water and sugary drinks, cold compresses for the fever, some medicine, vitamins, and a single flower.
you manage a weak smile.
“thank you” your voice is thick with congestion. it requires you making a great effort to extend your arm, and point to the end of the row of things on the floor “i get the food, the clothes and the pills. what’s the flower for, though?”
you are too exhausted to lift your head and look at him, but you’re sure he’s blushing when he answers.
“umemiya told me to give it to you. said it would help you feel better.”
he’s clearly flustered —you can hear it in his voice— and probably grateful you can’t see how red his face is right now.
you chuckle softly.
“it does.” you say “it’s really pretty. thank you, sakura.”
and the poor guy is now blushing even harder.
he found out you were sick this morning. usually, he would hear your door every morning before he left for school —you always left earlier than him, since your classes and your job are both on the other side of the city. but today, there was only silence. no sound of the coffee machine, no rustling clothes, no soft curses about running late.
he might’ve ignored it, but he remembered you telling him how busy this week would be, how you couldn’t afford to miss classes with exams just around the corner. you had said all that while taking care of him when he was sick —thinking he was asleep. but he heard every word.
so when he saw light under your door and knocked with no response, he panicked. he didn’t care about being late to class, no one in furin would really care. so he grabbed the emergency key you’d given him just in case and let himself in.
the apartment was dark, except for the faint glow coming from under the door of your bedroom. you didn’t answer when he called your name —quietly, not wanting to startle you— so he stepped inside.
then he saw you
you were huddled under the blanket, your phone still in your hand like you’d fallen asleep waiting for a message or a call. your limbs stretched out across the futon, half uncovered, as if the heat was unbearable —but you were shivering like you were freezing.
it was more than obvious you were sick, but he didn’t want to wake you. you looked anything but peaceful, but you also looked exhausted, and he knew how hard your week had been. so he just stood there for a moment —then quietly stepped back out.
later, across town at furin, sakura was so distracted thinking about you, he tripped over suo twice during patrols.
“what’s bothering you, sakura?” suo asked, catching his arm before he could fall again. “you look worried.”
the two-colored-hair guy stood up straight, freeing himself from his friend's grasp —again, and mumbled a "thank you", avoiding his gaze.
“it’s nothing. just...” he’d told them about you before, but mentioning you in front of his classmates still made him go red. “yn’s sick, and i want to help her”
suo raised a brow.
"oh, i see." he said, a grin growing on his face.
“i mean, because she helped me when i was sick. and i want to return her the favor, i owe her.” sakura added quickly, now flustered.
it’s tsugeura who intervened then.
"yn? the neighbor you're always talking about?”
“i don't always talk about her!" sakura protested.
right then, as if summoned by some invisible signal, nirei, kiryu, and the others turned around, stopping dead.
"she's sick? seriously?" nirei asked, already pulling out his phone like he was about to write down a shopping list.
overwhelmed, sakura could only nod.
"i want to bring her something to help her feel better."
so, when returning to the class with the rest of his classmates, sakura found himself stuck in the middle of an impromptu meeting, surrounded by half his class in a discussion about what to bring you to feel better.
“we should buy some medicines and vitamins for her!” nirei was saying, his concern genuine.
he didn’t even know you personally—none of them did. but since their grade captain seemed completely smitten for you, they were all too happy to help out on his behalf.
“she was shivering but looked flushed?” suo asked after hearing sakura’s description of how he had found you “sounds like a fever. we should get some cold compresses, and medicine too”
“eating is important too, in case she wakes up hungry” kiryu added “soup could be good. and a drink she likes, sugary for her to regain strength.”
the conversation spiraled for a while, everyone adding something new they should bring to their grand captain’s neighbor —who was, definitely, not as excited as them.
it was not only the worry for your wellbeing now, it was a tight, bitter feeling in his stomach. if he had to define the sensation, he would have catalogued it as very uncomfortable and very weird.
because he didn’t like the idea of his classmates —his friends, he reminded himself— taking care of you, or buying things for you, at all. he knew they were just trying to help him, but going to your apartment and looking after you personally?
no. he didn’t want that.
first of all, sakura didn’t want them to meet you at all. yes, he’d told them about you several times —when you helped him with the hot water of the shower, the times you’ve brought him leftover desserts from your restaurant because you know he likes them, or when you went to his house, despite having a very busy day and being tired, to make sure his fever was going down and that he was eating properly.
sakura never let on how much you meant to him —but you’re precisely that: part of his life, not theirs. and maybe it wasn’t fair, but he didn’t want to share you.
second of all, he didn’t want you to meet them either. he would never say it out loud, but the thought terrified him —that you’d fall for suo’s kindness, nirei’s soft smile or kiryu’s charm; that you’d just realize that everyone has something better than him.
more than anything, he just wanted to stay your favorite.
was that selfish?
“i will do it.” he said, then, cutting off the class' whole conversation “i’ll buy everything you said, and go take care of her myself. after all, it’s me who gave this virus to her.” all the eyes moved to him in this new silence. then he realized he might had appeared ungrateful, so he added —“and, um. thank you all. for your help.”
none of his classmates answered, though. he felt a little intimidated by the silence.
suo was grinning, kiryu had raised an eyebrow, and tsugeura was the one who asked out loud what everyone was thinking —“¿what do you mean you gave the virus to her?”
sakura found himself out of words for a few seconds.
“well, she took care of me when i was sick, too.” he finally said, looking away “i told her it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted on staying the night with me in case my fever raised while asleep. i think she got it then."
“oh. so she stayed the night at yours?”
suo laughed. tsugeura asked again.
“and how close were you two, for her to get your sickness too?”
sakura realized then what they were implying. his cheeks got tinted by a pale shade of pink when he shook his head, panicked.
“no! no, it’s nothing like that. she just… she helped me, that’s all. i didn’t event want her to, my plan was to wait until i felt better, but she insisted on staying…”
but there was no turning back now. during the rest of the morning, the only thing sakura received was a constant teasing from his classmates —it was so bad, that at the end of the school day, before going back home, umemiya reached him to give him a flower for his sick girlfriend, who would definitely appreciate it, and it would make her feel better.
so here he is now, telling you how all his classmates —all his friends— helped him to choose what he had to bring for you, his cheeks and nose slightly flushed and his hand absentmindedly on the back of his neck.
and, even after the soup and emptying a whole bottle of water, your forehead is still hot and the fever remains blurring your thoughts. so, now looking him at his eyes —thinking how cute he looks when he isn’t able to hold your gaze— you don’t rethink it when straightly saying out loud:
“you look so pretty when you blush.”
and you know you’ve messed him up, because he’s blushing even harder, and he stutters when telling you about his journey on the search of the best soup flavor.
you can't but let slip a low giggle when he finishes his story.
“thank you so much for coming, sakura.” you thank him, knowing well he isn’t able to say anything right now —you've never seen anyone get so timid after a compliment “i mean it.”
still shy, he lowers his head and looks at his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
“it’s nothing, really. i’m just returning you the favor, for helping me when i was sick.”
you both know that’s not true at all, but none of you mentions it. you play along, then —“still. im glad you’re taking care of me, even if it’s just because you feel you owe me.”
sakura waits a few seconds before answering this one. he has stopped playing with his shirt, and is now distracted folding the clothes he used as cold compresses.
he mumbles, almost unintelligibly, his reply.
“i’m taking care of you because i do care about you.”
you giggle at his cheeks becoming even redder after his word.
“what did you say? i think i didn’t hear you, sorry.” you ask, teasing him a little.
there's a moment of silence after that—not awkward, but warm, lingering.
sakura has gone quiet again. you’re both still, the soft hum of your room’s air-conditioning the only sound between you. his gaze flickers to yours for a second, then drops to his hands again. you can see his fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt again, then still, as if trying to gather courage.
the air feels different now —not fever-warm, but tender.
to your surprise, he suddenly raises his head, and fixes his gaze on yours —grey and gold eyes shining under the warm light of your room. looks like he's lost all shyness, even if only for a moment.
“i said i do care about you. not only for a favor.” sakura repeats, now louder. and right after, all the courage he gathered seems to disappear from his body, because he, again, looks away “and i want you to feel better… so that you can, uh, come with and try that omurice im telling you about all the time."
you raise a brow. he does the same, but he looks funny, because his gaze is on the door of the closet —it looks like he's trying to tease your clothes, and not you.
“unless you don’t wanna come, of course, but i assure you you’d be missing the opportunity of a lifetime.” he adds.
a soft chuckle leaves your lips, and you can’t help it —mirroring his, your cheeks turn a pale shade of pink that has nothing to do with the fever that finally starts disappearing.
since he opened your window, the birds’ whistling fill the room as background noise, sun rays tickling your exposed skin —you have long forgotten the blanket, due to the heat of the apartment, on a corner of your room.
you’re sitting on the futon now, hands playing with the only compress he didn’t yet fold. you are not really sure of how, or when, has the atmosphere become so intimate, but you feel the need to whisper the next time you talk.
“yeah, sakura.” you say, eyes lingered on his black and white down eyelashes. suddenly, you feel too flustered to look at him in the eyes.
it's an answer to the question he hasn't yet asked.
“yeah, what?” he asks, looking at you again. “you don’t wanna come?”
you shake your head, then smile sweetly.
“yeah, i would be missing the opportunity of a lifetime if i didn’t try that omurice you tell about all the time, going on a date with you.”
sakura doesn't respond immediately.
in fact, you’re pretty sure you just broke him —he just stares at you, stunned, as if unsure if whether you just said was real or part of your fever's delirium. but then, very slowly, he smiles.
it's small, shy, but completely sincere. and for a second, it feels as if the warmth in your face isn't from the fever anymore—but from him, and the way he looks at you like you are his opportunity of a lifetime.
you both stay quiet for a while, wrapped in warmth, in sunlight, in something that feels a lot like a beginning. small smiles in both your faces, as if sharing a secret no one but you know about.
you can’t help but stare.
he looks so pretty —cheeks tinted pink, two colored hair disheveled, pressed reddish lips due to bashfulness, the collar of his white plain shirt revealing part of his collarbones.
you had thought he was handsome, the first time you saw him, carrying boxes into his new apartment. then you discovered he was more on the cute side, after getting to know him and learning how sweet he is —even despite his tsundere personality.
as if refuting your trail of thoughts, he breaks the eye contact and you let out a sincere, soft giggle.
“cute.” you say, a smirk on your face.
“shut up.” his face is, again, all red under the black and white frame of his hair. he mumbles “you’re cuter.”
then he gets up, still avoiding your gaze —that follows him, entertained, as he picks up the empty bowl of soup and carries it to the kitchen. after leaving it on the sink, he takes the medicine and a bottle of water, and passes them to you.
“come on, now, take your meds,” your expression says it everything, disgust clear on your face when he brings the pill to you. he raises both brows, and now it’s his turn to smirk “or, i will not be able to take you on that date you talk about.”
you groan as a complain, but still take the pill he’s offering you, and swallow it with a long sip of water, obediently.
as he walks back toward the kitchen, you can’t help but smile softly.
“if this is how you’re going to take care of me, i might have to get sick more often.”
sakura chuckles, and doesn't hesitate before replying —his voice coming lightly from behind the kitchen door, where you can’t see his face.
“are you sure about that?” he calls back “that’s a shame, ‘cause my mom always said sick people couldn’t get kisses —and i’m not really the type to go against her advice.”
you roll your eyes, grinning, with no comeback on the tip of your tongue at all. he wins this one, surprisingly.
you never thought you’d end up falling for the shy kitty-looking boy next door —but your heart’s not exactly complaining.

masterlist.
pls lmk what u think in the comments, reblogging, through messages, asks or wtv!! feedback is important to me in these first posts and i'd appreciate it a lot 🤲🏼

﹫luvseisagi, may 2025.
#archive 📁. ۶ৎ#wind breaker#windbreaker#wbk#wind breaker x reader#wbk x reader#wind breaker x you#wind breaker x y/n#wbk x you#wind breaker anime#wbk anime#sakura haruka#wind breaker season 2#wind breaker sakura#wbk sakura#haruka sakura x reader#haruka sakura x you
408 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ft. Clumsy Alessia on one knee - cliff top - reader: “babe did you just trip again?? Oh my god you’re proposing!!”
part of the maternal instincts universe just say yes II a.russo
you and alessia were engaged. you couldn't quite believe it as for the tenth time just in that hour you'd found yourself gazing down at your ring finger in admiration.
twisting your hand left and right you watched as the clean cut diamond caught the sun, glinting and shimmering as your lips curled into the same dopey smile of disbelief that had been plastered in your face the last two days since.
but in order to understand just how it happened, you'd need to track back through a series of rather unplanned and unfortunate events, and it had all started on a tuesday evening...
you had parent teacher interviews (which really you'd always protested was a waste of time for primary school classes, but the department of education clearly disagreed) which left alessia in charge for the night shift.
now normally that would be fine, bar bella perhaps testing the waters a little more to see just how much she could get away with. though your girlfriend had caught onto this quite quickly and now with both time and confidence under her belt had no issues assuming the stricter parental role as needed.
but tonight it seemed bella and her tummy monster had decided to take it easy on the striker, not kicking up a fuss when alessia refused to buy pizza for dinner since there was things to use up in the fridge, only splashing her half as much as usual in the bath and putting on her least favourite pair of pyjamas since the latter was in the wash.
so naturally alessia felt her guard start to slip, sitting bella down in front of the tv for her designated nightly episode of bluey and busying herself scanning two marketing contracts luca had been harassing her about which had been sat in her email inbox for well over a week now.
sat at the dining room table with her back turned on the suspiciously well behaved five year old, alessia failed to notice the couch was empty, bella wandering off to try and locate her phone which she knew charged in the bedroom, missing you and wanting to say goodnight.
but unaware the phone in question was tucked away in alessias pocket, bella frowned at the bare side table, now on the hunt and pulling open the drawer of the nightstand, pushing up on the tips of her toes to look inside.
sticking a hand up she clumsily fumbled about, pushing and poking and prodding but huffing when ultimately there was still no phone to be found. but then her finger brushed something soft, eyebrows creasing as she stood up as tall as she could until her small hand was able to grasp it.
tugging it out of the nightstand, a small crushed velvet box sat in the palm of your daughters hand, and from the moment she popped it open, everything that was to come in the week ahead was set into motion.
"you bought mummy a ring!" alessia almost fell off her chair as a little voice chirped up suddenly from beside her, eyes widening as large as saucers at the diamond ring thrust in her face as bella climbed up on the chair beside her, wild grin on her face.
"where did you get this? were you snooping? what did we say about snooping isabella?" alessia's tone was sharp as she slammed her laptop shut, lurching forward to snatch the ring and snap the box closed, shoving it into her pocket and head rapidly darting side to side to check you hadn't seen as if you weren't currently on the other side of town.
"no! i wanted your phone, so i could call mummy and say goodnight. does mummy know about the ring? does this mean you're gonna get married? can i be the flower girl? can i wear a pretty dress? can the dress be pink? or maybe red! will leah be there? will uncle-" overwhelmed by the rapid fire investigation taking place alessia was quick to press her hand over the five year olds mouth.
"we need to have a little talk, bella." alessia warned sternly, slowly lowering her hand as bellas once delighted grin lowered into a scowl, crossing her arms and slumping down in the chair, as was her usual go to whenever she knew she'd gotten herself into trouble.
"come on, its past your bedtime." alessia spoke a little softer now, standing and offering her hand for bella to take, chuckling as the girl who was more than capable of walking lifted her arms expectantly.
"oh alright then." alessia gave in with a sigh of amusement, lifting bella up and into her own arms, walking the pair of them down the hall to her room and lowering her into bed, making sure she was all tucked in and comfortable with the small army of stuffed animals bella insisted all needed a place in bed with her.
"now this-" alessia grabbed the ring from her pocket and popped the box open again. "-is a conversation i did not plan to have this way, snoopy." alessia smiled poking at bella's nose who scrunched her face up in response.
"but the situation has clearly changed. so, tiny, would you be okay if i ask your mummy to marry me?" alessia asked, a small handful of nerves bubbling to the surface with the question, surprise clearly written all over your daughters face.
"me?" bella asked in response, pointing to herself as your girlfriend smiled and nodded. "yeah, you. your opinion is pretty important to me you know." alessia affirmed, hand smoothing down the few rogue tufts of hair which stuck up at the back of bella's head where she'd had one of your hoodies on before dinner.
"i want you to marry mummy! i do! then we can be a real family!" bella perked up, alessia almost falling off the bed as bella launched across it, arms flung around her neck and clinging on tightly to the bear hug your girlfriend eagerly wrapped her in.
"we already are a family. me, you, your mum, your dad, your dads girlfriend olivia. thats why we all go out to dinner every second friday, right?" alessia reminded gently, hand rubbing up and down soothingly against bellas back.
"yeah! for chinese." bella nodded happily, the routine one that both you and your ex had implemented once both in quite serious relationships, and much from isabellas own requests.
"but. you cannot tell mummy about the ring or that i want to propose to her, okay?" alessias tone once again adopted a strict undertone, carefully prying bella off and pulling back the covers so she could climb underneath them again.
"but why? she'll be happy! mummy loves you mama." bella wondered innocently with a frown, tucking one of her teddys under her chin as she wiggled around until she was comfortable.
"because its a surprise, so its our little secret. okay? not a word to mummy, nothing, nada, zip!" alessia motioned zipping her lips closed making the five year old giggle and nod in agreement.
"zip!"
and for a few days, that seemed to be working well. until dinner at alessias mothers place, where suddenly everything came crashing down.
you were of course being your usual stubborn self, refusing to let anyone swat you out of the kitchen to help clean up after dinner and flicking your girlfriend with the dish towel when she didn't hold this same level of use.
"babe!" alessia gasped as the crack echoed around the living room, your finger pointing back into the kitchen. "your mum and dad cooked, your brother cleared the table, you can dry a dish or two russo." you warned sternly, the blonde sending a filthy side eye to luca who oohed, earning himself a smack on the arm from his own wife.
but with the pair of you preoccupied in the kitchen, and bella showing alessias parents her latest dance routine in the front room, it would seem the striker should have perhaps been a little more specific with the nature of her earlier warnings.
"lessi! can you come here for a second please darling?" the blonde glanced over your head from where her mum was calling for her, not long having finished helping you wash and dry when bella had come zooming on through, smacking your leg and demanding you were now 'it' for the game of tag she'd started.
"yeah mum what-" but the words died in her mouth the minute she saw the all too familiar red box in the womans hand, mirrored by the looks of pride and joy in both her parents eyes.
"oh god!" alessia groaned, dragging her hands down her face and hurrying to all but slam her parents bedroom door shut as the congratulations and hugs started which she quickly wiggled her way out of.
"isabella!" alessia muttered under her breath, forcing a weak smile as her parents chattered away happily and she plucked the ring from her mothers palm, tucking it safely away in her pocket and making a mental note to find a better hiding spot.
"why didn't you tell us you were proposing!" right as her dad clapped her on the back the door opened, alessias head doing a near 360 on her shoulders and exhaling shakily in relief seeing it was only bella and luca, rapidly motioning for the door to be closed again.
"you're proposing??" luca asked with wide eyes, squatting down to allow bella to slide off his back where he'd been carting her around, alessia sighing deeply and pressing her fingertips into her temple.
"i'm gonna be the flower girl!" bella announced happily, bouncing about as the room exploded into chatter once again and the blonde wished the ground could swallow her up.
"isabella i told you not to tell anyone!" alessia warned the grinning five year old who darted back to hide behind lucas leg. "no! mama you told me not to tell mummy." isabella retorted matter of factly, though not with quite enough confidence to move away from using luca as a human shield.
"well i told you not to touch the ring!" alessia groaned again. "i didn't! i touched the box." bella answered back smartly, retreating even further behind luca as alessias eyes narrowed.
"so when are you doing it? now?" her brother questioned eagerly, bella sneaking off when alessias gaze flickered away from her for just a second, the door opening and closing before the blonde could grab her.
"bella don't you-now? of course i'm not doing it now!" alessia scoffed, her head starting to hurt as she advanced toward the door, eager to wrangle you and bella up and get away from here into a much more controlled environment where the threat of the secret being revealed was at least lessened.
"but why not? sieze the moment darling, it doesn't have to be a big gesture!" her mum encouraged, alessia waving her off with a shake of her head, throwing open the door and all but stomping down the hall, her anxiety peaked that bella would continue on her little train of telling and you'd be the next stop.
only when she came to a halt at the back door, time seemed to slow and the hardened lines etched in her forehead softened, watching you and bella kick a ball around in the backyard, sudden nostalgia washing over her of when alessia had been bellas age.
full of life, excitement, with scraped knees and mud stained clothes, determined to best her two older brothers who would constantly shoot her down when she tried to join them, instead practicing on her own until the sun was so low in the sky she couldn't see more than a metre in front of her and she was forced to come inside.
you spotted your girlfriend hovering and watching, giving her a wave and pretending to dive for the ball, bella easily slotting it past you and racing around doing her 'air russo' arms as alessias lips curled into a smile.
though perhaps instead of watching in front of her, she should have been a little more concerned with what lay beneath her, as within no more than two steps forward the striker seemed to forget the layout of her own backyard, tumbling down the three steps that connected the deck to the grass.
of course more than used to your girlfriends clumsiness you didn't think much of it, covering a laugh up with a cough as you jogged on over to her with an amused shake of your head.
but as alessia slowly pulled herself up, she realised there was a looming weight that was now missing from her left pocket, and again head gaze shot downward.
scrambling to recover the small red box sat in plain sight on the grass before her, she was lucky as your attention was temporarily captured as bella called out for you to watch her do a cartwheel.
"very good!" you clapped happily at the five year olds half cartweel, turning around again as bella attempted to try and juggle the ball as she'd watched alessia do countless times, instead booting it halfway across the backyard with an annoyed huff.
"babe did you trip again?" you returned your gaze down to alessia, but your laughter caught in your throat as you did so, the blonde staring up at you like a deer in headlights with a tiny red box in her hand.
you knew you shouldn't say it, but the words came tumbling out of your mouth like a flood before you could stop them.
"oh my god you're proposing." you choked out, alessias mouth opening and closing like a fish. "no im-" but seeing the way your face automatically fell at just those two words, the regret and embarrassment now filling your features, coupled with the multiple sets of eyes she could feel staring at the pair of you from back inside the house.
she made a decision.
"yes. yes i am!" she quickly clarified as you now watched on with shock, alessia shaking her head a few times and exhaling shakily. "um-look i had a whole plan and a speech and it was much more elaborate and romantic and thoughtful than well...this." alessia started nervously, adjusting herself to be on one knee.
"but then bella found the ring early and let it slip to my parents and she brought it here to show them, without me knowing, and then the more people knew the more i worried it would get back to you before i was ready and when i tell you i had a plan i had a plan! i promise. it was-" alessia spoke a million miles an hour as you struggled to keep up, clearing your throat suddenly.
"less, my love, you're rambling." you smiled, still able to find some amusement in this situation as the blonde nodded profusely, pausing for a moment and taking a deep breath.
"this wasn't how i planned it, like at all. but i love you more than anything, i love isabella with my everything, and i want to cement a loving and stable future with both of you. so, will you marry me?" alessia finally popped the question, and you knew your answer, but you just couldn't seem to get the words out.
feeling a hand slip into yours you looked down, finding your daughter stood beside you with a cheshire like grin.
"mummy, just say yes."
and thats exactly what you did.
527 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can I get a request of a reader being from a foreign country she is a gamer but she knows nagi from discord and playing games with him. And she decided to surprise him and pop up in Japan. That’s all I got🤣 run with the rest
yess this is so cute TY FOR THE REQ 💗💞

143 means i love you
nagi seishiro x fem!reader. oneshot, fluff. wc: 1.5k
you joined the japanese server to test your language knowledge. plus, you were sick of children screaming slurs on the english server. you didn’t expect to find such good gaming chemistry with someone in another country, and you didn’t expect to give him your discord after.
usernxgi: so we can play tgt again :x
you: sure! but my japanese is awful :’)
usernxgi: u dont need 2 speak japanese 2 play this game lol
you: Die
you and the stranger, whom you learned was named nagi, played several games afterward. however, you didn’t start playing on call until your sixth match together, when you nearly lost because the in-game chat glitched out and cut off your only form of communication.
there was an obvious language barrier the first time you spoke, but nagi was right when he said you didn’t need to speak the same language to play. you understood more than you could say, so when nagi would say “go left” or “back me,” you’d obey without needing to reply.
the relationship between you continued until you were messaging back and forth every day, whether you played together or not. you even trusted him enough to give him your number, and he spammed you with cat memes for two days before eventually growing bored. due to the time zone difference, you'd fall asleep wishing him a good day and wake up with good morning texts.
you: gmmmmm <33
nagi: gm y/n :) how did u sleep ?
you: good! if u aren't busy today, we should play together
nagi reacted "🤍" to your message!
it was a comfortable relationship, and you tried not to dwell on the fact that it was digital. months went by, and you found yourself wanting more and more from nagi. you loved talking and gaming with him, but you wanted to do simple things like go to a movie or eat dinner together.
that's when you got the brilliant idea to go to japan.
nagi told you where he was attending uni after you were deemed trustworthy, and you were following a few of his friends on instagram. they made a chat with you to help teach you japanese, but it dried up once school started again.
when you reached out to his best friend, reo, with your plan, he was more than willing to help. he offered to pay for your flight and hotel, but you politely turned him down (rookie mistake) and instead asked him to show you around the city a bit before you officially met nagi.
reo: do you need a translator? i could set something up for you!
you: noo that's okay!! i've been studying and taking japanese classes at my college :))
reo: okay! i'll have a driver pick you up at the airport
reo: don't say no, he's already been booked and paid for
you: ....... thank you :')
reo: anything for my best friend-in-law!
you were a nervous, shaky mess when your plane landed in japan. you followed reo's instructions and the english directional signs plastered around the international airport until you spotted a man in a suit holding a sign with your name. you blushed ferociously and sped-walked to the man, flashing him a tight smile as you waved awkwardly.
"hello," you greeted in japanese, and the man took your bags before leading you to his limoseine.
you: a limo?? really??
reo: ;)
it surprisingly didn't take as long as you thought it would to reach reo's penthouse. he was waiting outside for you with a blinding smile, and you were caught off guard by how purple his hair looked in person. "y/n!" he shouted when he saw you. "nagi doesn't know you're here, right?"
"no, i wanted to surprise him..." you rubbed your arm, suddenly unsure if this was a wise idea or not. you wanted to see nagi, but maybe you should have discussed your trip with him first.
the light tap of reo's knuckles against your shoulder pulled you from your thoughts, and he flashed you a small, comforting smile. "don't worry. he'll be super excited to see you! well, maybe not super excited, he isn't the type to get very emotional, but i'm sure he'll smile!"
reo helped you get settled in your hotel before giving you a brief tour of his favorite places in the city. "oh! this is where nagi and i went to high school! i taught him how to play soccer here."
eventually, he got a phone call from a certain white-haired boy, and your stomach twisted anxiously. reo caught your expression and beamed. "come on! i told him i'd bring food over for dinner."
after picking the food up, you followed reo to nagi's apartment. he helped you read signs in japanese when you struggled with your pronunciation, and before you knew it, you were standing outside your online friend's door.
this is a bad idea, you mentally scolded yourself. reo entered the code and used his foot to open the door. "nagi!" too late to back out, now!
"huh, reo?" you heard from inside the apartment and halted. his voice was the same in person as it was over the phone, yet hearing it this clearly startled you.
reo gestured you to follow with the tilt of his head. "i have something for you. come here."
"i don't wanna," he grumbled, and you smiled. he really wasn't any different in person than he was online. after a few rounds of gaming together, he usually gave up and got himself killed first so that he could sit back and watch you and his teammates play without him.
you weren't expecting him to round the corner so suddenly, but your breath caught in your chest when he did. he was dressed in grey sweats and a hoodie, both too big to fit, but what really caught you off guard was how tall he was. his voice was on the softer side, so you weren't expecting someone 6'3.
he blinked when his eyes landed on you. you stared at each other for a moment, taking several moments for the situation to process, before nagi stepped back around the corner and out of sight.
"uh—" you cut yourself off when he appeared a moment later with hair not as messy as it'd been before. nagi raised a hand, and you could tell he was trying to keep his grin at bay by the way his lips twitched. "hey."
a giggle bubbled in your chest as you waved back. "hi, nagi."
reo looked between the two of you with a crazed grin. "oh! it seems i have a meeting i completely forgot about! you two will be alright without me, i'm sure. bye!" he didn't give either of you a chance to reply before sprinting out the door, manic laughter following him down the hallway.
you and nagi stood, silently staring at the spot reo had just been standing. you didn't feel uncomfortable in your online friend's presence, but it was a bit awkward as you struggled to find something to say.
thankfully, nagi broke the silence and tipped his head to the side. "wanna game?"
☆ 🎮
"no fair!" you shouted in frustration as you lost... again. "you know the controls; i've never played this before!"
the soft sound of nagi's laughter filled your ears, and you felt your face heat up. "this is bullying."
"cute."
"it's an abuse of power!"
"mmm, yep."
you glared at him and the little upward curve of his lips. "teach me how to play."
"nope."
"why?!" you gaped.
nagi's head tipped back against his shoulders, eyes lazily meeting yours. "i like when you're mad. 's cute."
your mouth snapped shut. whatever creative comeback you were planning evaporated from your mind, and you found yourself struggling to remember how to speak japanese.
"jerk," you managed after a few moments, and he laughed before saying in broken english, "no english, please."
you switched over to a game you were both familiar with after that and finally started winning. the two of you played until the sun set and the delivery food was gone. stretching your arms over your head, you reluctantly stood and placed the gaming controller on the charging stand. "i should probably go to my hotel,"
nagi let out a silent yawn as he followed suit, charging his controller and standing beside you. "ok. should i walk with you?"
"isn't that too much of a hassle?" you teased, and nagi shrugged. he never gave verbal confirmation, but he shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and followed you when you exited his apartment.
you breathed in the night air and sighed, smiling when you felt nagi's baggy sleeve brush against your arm every few steps. "i'm happy i got to meet you."
"me too."
"we should hang out again tomorrow if you aren't busy," you offered, sparing him a quick glance to find him already looking down at you with a faint smile. "okay."
#requested!#blue lock#bllk#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#bllk x you#blue lock x you#bllk oneshot#blue lock oneshots#nagi seishiro#bllk nagi#blue lock nagi#nagi texts#nagi x you#nagi#nagi x reader#nagi seishiro x reader#nagi seishiro x you#nagi seishiro texts#nagi oneshot#blue lock nagi oneshot#bllk fanfic#blue lock fanfic#bllk fluff#blue lock fluff#bllk anime#blue lock anime#bllk manga#blue lock manga#mikage reo
559 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yandere Batfam x Neglected, but Defiant Reader
The First Page
Warning(s): Neglect, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mind break (There are no yandere themes yet, but will be in another chapter)
(This chapter is basically the first part of the prologue and some things fixed)
~~~~~
10 years old.
You were only 10 years old when the Gotham's billionaire, Bruce Wayne, entered through the doors of the orphanage that you lived under of.
You could remember the owner holding your hand as she lead you to the man who is going to be your father.
You remember when he placed his hand on your head as he introduced himself to you and promised that he'll give you a great life.
You remember when you came to the manor as he introduced you to your new family that consists of four new older brothers, one new older sister, and a butler.
You remember when everyone would talk to you and welcome you with loving embraces.
You also remember a few days foward when Bruce gave you a costume that resembled a white dress with pink details, which earned you the title of Batgirl.
And after all of that, it's like it never happened.
~~~~~
You are now being ignored by everyone.
Nobody gave you a glance, made excuses, and basically beat the shit out of you. Well, not exactly.
For example, there was one day when you came up to Bruce with a flyer in your hand.
"Um, hi, Bruce... I know you're busy right now, but... I'm going to have a school play and I got the main role. So... I hope you can stop by and watch."
You tell him in the nicest way possible.
However, Bruce was so focused on his paperwork that he didn't give you a glance. All he said was...
"Hm? Yeah, I'll go check it out if I finish all of this."
And suprise, suprise, he never showed up.
This resulted in you crying in the girl's restroom all alone in your costume.
~~~~~
There was also a time when you felt like you needed to train more, so you did it by going up to Dick who seems to be training with Damian.
"Um, guys? Can I join you two?"
You ask as you smile awkwardly as your two older brothers turned to you.
Which is why you became surprised when Dick smiles.
"Sure! But, do you mind if you wait until me and Damian are done with this sparring session? It won't take too long."
He said with a chuckle as Damian looked like he was glaring at his little sister.
You didn't want to be rude, which is why you just nodded before you went over to the corner and watched your brothers train.
As an hour passed, Dick and Damian stopped, which made you take the chance to finally train with them.
However, you seemed confused when you saw the two turning around and walking out of the batcave.
"He-Hey, Dick? I thought you and Damian were going to train with me."
You speak up in a timid tone, which the two clearly heard.
"Oh, about that. Sorry, (name), but we were already planning to go to the cafe for a break. Maybe tomorrow, okay?"
Dick said with an 'apologetic' expression before he leaves with Damian.
Because of this, you never asked him to train with you again.
~~~~~
These were all easily common, but there were some moments when it scarred you.
One time, Tim was basically forced to bring you to a mission along with his friends.
As the patrol went on, you seemed to get distracted a bit when you spotted Conner having some trouble.
Because of this, you left the scene and quickly dived in and fought alongside the teenage Kryptonian. Thanks to you, everything was handled.
Conner thanked you before someone yelled out your name. This made you jolt as you turned to see an angry Tim storming over to you.
Before you can say anything, he cuts you in.
"What on earth were you doing?! I told you to stay where you are, and you just had to ignore everything I say, don't you?!"
He yells as if someone murdered his close family member.
This made you so shocked as Conner was stunned. When Cassie and Bart came over to the spot, they were both shocked to see their friend, yelling at his little sister.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm down, Tim. (name) didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who called her over to help me."
Conner defends you, but of course, Tim doesn't listen.
"Don't even try to defend her! She knows what she did! Oh, I am SO going to report this to Batman, so don't even try to cover yourself up!"
Tim said in a frustrated and angry tone towards you before he used his grappling hook and swooped down, leaving you behind with his friends.
"Hey, what the hell, asshole!"
Conner shouts out at his friend as he was shocked to him this angry.
He lets out a sigh before he looks over to see Cassie and Bart, comforting you as you are crying in their arms.
~~~~~
Yelling wasn't the only thing that you had to endure.
You even went through moments when things got a little too... physical.
It all happened when you were just trying to help someone in need.
You were walking down the hallway during the night as you just wanted a cup of water. As you were wandering down the hallway, you noticed some voices from someone's bedroom.
Jason's bedroom.
This made you curious as you got close to the door to hear Jason talking amongst himself as he sat on the edge of his bed.
He kept muttering stuff out of his mouth, which made you worried.
That is when you made a mistake by going inside.
"Jason...? Are you okay?"
You ask in a timid voice.
At that moment, Jason snaps his head towards you before everything starts to go blur. All you remember is him grabbing something like a pole type object before it was brought down towards your head.
And then, you woke up in your own bedroom, except you have a bandage wrapped around your head.
When you sat up, all you saw was Alfred, the family's loyal butler. No sign of your other family around, concerning about you.
Luckily, you recovered, and the wound went away after a month.
And, of course, Jason never apologized for what he did to you.
~~~~~
A few months was in, and no improvement has been made. You were always ignored. They made excuses of not wanting to spend time with you, and some of them actually hit you a few times.
All of that happened to your ten year old self.
But, did you give up on that spot? Nope.
You discovered on the internet what you can do to please your family to gain their attention. There were a lot of results, but the one that kept popping up the most was trying to reach your best achievements, which would result in them showing you more support from them.
And that's what you did.
You started to join in many after-school activities and studied all your might. It was tiring, and you almost passed out from exhaustion, but you kept going because you wanted at least your family to notice you.
The problem is that they never did.
They never congratulated you, celebrated on your accomplishment, and most of all, they didn't even give you a glance when you showed off.
All of that for nothing. Damn.
~~~~~
The breaking point wasn't because of all that. It was when someone else entered the family.
Duke Thomas.
A metahuman teenager whose parents died from the Joker Venom.
You thought that they might treat him the same way that they had treated you.
But, nothing.
Duke was showered with love, attention, and even praise.
The things that you never got when you came here.
Whenever you pass by whatever event that they're holding, you will always see them together. Being all happy, chatting, and laughing with one another.
They never do that when they're around you. Even on your birthdays. Actually, when was the last time they all celebrated your birthday?
At that moment, something inside you just snapped. Like, a loud crack echoes through your head that makes a loud ringing sound, kind of like a wake-up call.
Then, it all clicked.
They never cared about you.
They never even liked you.
The only reason why Bruce adopted you is because nobody wanted to.
~~~~~
The thoughts kept running through your head as you walked into an alleyway with a trash bag in hand.
Earlier today at school, you dropped out the clubs that you absolutely hated and pretty much just purposely laid back in your classes.
You feel empty.
When you finally reach the dumpster, you got on top of some stacked boxes because of your height and open the large lid.
You could only stare inside that had a lot of black colored trash bags. Your eyes were blank as you stared down inside.
That's when you muttered out.
"Why even bother...?"
With that, you tossed the trash bag that you were holding on into the dumpster.
After what it felt like hours, you finally got off of the boxes that you were standing on top of before you walked out of the alleyway.
As you walked away, something fell out of the trash bag that you threw out.
It was a white bat eared helmet.
The accessory that once matched with your costume.
That's right.
You were no longer Batgirl.
You never were, anyway.
•
•
•
Taglist: @somebodyrandom-613 @delias-stuff @endism @ragdol-666 @snowy-violet @sleepydhanie @missikkj @k1ttys-w0rld @box-of-kinderjoy @thetreefairypersonalblog @thelibraryofdeez @animegoddess15
(If you want to be on the taglist, let me know!)
#yandere#yandere batfam#yandere batfamily#batfam#batfamily#yandere x reader#yandere platonic#neglected reader#platonic#yandere dc
1K notes
·
View notes