SMAU: in which the men talk to their friends after an argument with you
Warnings: a little angst but mostly fluff/crack, a little suggestive language, established relationship, intended to see how they talk about you to others, not proofread
Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna
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Heeyyyy, could i request a Tiktok trend? The one where they go to a restaurant and when the waiter comes up to them the girlfriend asks their boyfriend âIf they can order some friesâ?
Can I Order Some Fries?
In which you embarrass the jjk men by making them look controlling
soulmate first words au where Simon grew up with the words âoh my god, please, donât.â plastered across his arm in dark black ink. since the moment he could read, heâd been terrified of what that meant. heâd heard those words from him mother enough times when his dad came home drunk and swinging fists towards anything that moved, heâd heard them in back alleys while undercover, some poor woman being groped by a man twice her size, and heâd even heard it once or twice from the poor fucker heâd put a bullet in after interrogations gone wrong. Every time he flinches, wondering if that was his one shot at something good heâd just killed in cold blood. Fitting, for a bastard like him, or so he told himself.
It wasnât until a night off with the team in some sweaty, sticky bar that he runs into you. As much as he tries to ignore the girl on a shitty date who keeps pushing the manâs hands off her ass and fake laughing at his boring jokes, it grates at him for reasons he can quite grasp. Later, heâll catch the tail end of a screaming match outside the bar. One that has your date storming off, and you sinking onto the grimy concrete in your nicest outfit. Heâll watch from the shadows, flicking the ash off a cigarette before finally saying, âWant me to kill him for ya?â and when your eyes shoot up to the stranger in disbelief he tacks on, âfree of charge.â
He almost canât make it out through your laughter, wet with lingering tears. âoh my god, please, donât.â you chuckle, âi wouldnât last a day in prison.â between the burning on his arm, exactly where those dreaded words are, and the way the air feels like itâs been punched straight from his lungs, simon canât muster up a reply fast enough.
You, on the other hand, have a smile slowly forming as you rub your own burning mark. âDo you know how worried my parents were when they saw what this said? They put me in preemptive therapy and everything. Thought Iâd end up in a gang or something.â The man reaches a hand out, offering to help you stand. âYouâre not are you? In a gang I mean?â
Another puff of smoke leaves his lips in what you think might have been the beginning of a laugh. âNo, military. Close enough, though.â
Dusting yourself off, you sneak a closer look at the shadowed stranger. your soulmate, a voice inside flutters with childish glee. âWell damn, there go all my mob wife aspirations.â
He sighs, and steps closer to you, just within the light of a flickering street lamp. Now, you can make out his features. Scars cover every inch of exposed skin, twisting and mangling what might have once been a fair face. Under your gaze, he waits cautiously, âSorry to disappoint.â A double meaning you catch immediately.
You motion back to the bar the both of you had been in earlier, then close your fingers around his with a tug, âMake it up to me, then?â
edited; 1.3k words
inspired by: this tiktok
pairing: uncle sukuna & baby yuji
tags: shy baby yuji; annoyed uncle sukuna
summary: sukuna gets dragged to a kindergarden sports day
a great morning for sukuna involved not waking up.
just rotting in his bed in the comfort of his room kept dark by his block out curtains.
he'd only wake up when his stomach would grumble to which he'd sit up, holding onto his throbbing head, and curse himself for the umpteenth time for his drinking habits.
sixteen bottles of vodka would do that to you.
he'd eat something greasy, fall back in bed and spend the rest of his morning asleep, recharging his body for the recklessness he would put it through later that day.
that was his ideal morning.
not babysitting.
not surrounded by parents who thought their children were equal to olympic athletes.
not on a school field that had cones of every colour imaginable scattered around, along with poorly made banner hung on the pavilions.
and certainly not surrounded by children with their little feet and big snotty heads, and one of them latched to his thigh like a koala.
"yuji, get off me. it's just one race."
"no."
the response came immediately, carrying the emotional stability of a live wire.
"you just have to run from there to there." sukuna pointed towards the short distance between colourful cones. âthere to there, thatâs all. what are you so afraid of?â
"no."
yuji's whines grew louder and frustrated, attracting the attention from parents and teachers nearby.
some cooed at the nervous child being comforted (from their point of view) by his father.
other's gawked, unable to get their attention past sukuna's build.
he had an impressive yet intimidating build, towering over almost every adult at the school, the rest barely making it past his shoulders.
he was as wide as he was tall, looking like he carried cement and steel for muscles sat on a chair that squeaked under him, struggling under all that weight.
"i'll give you a lollipop if you stop crying and just run the race," he offered, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. that didnât go through. âokay. two lollipops."
the sniffles quietened, giving sukuna a glimmer of hope that his negotiation worked. the toddler looked up at his uncle, still not letting go but there was an improvement.
"you like lollipops right."
the child's response came in a small nod.
"if you win, i'll get you two.â
âcan i have the big one.â
anything to get him to run.
âyes, yes. you can have any lollipop you want.â
âi donât care. just run, your mom will have my head if you come back empty handed.â
that was not an empty threat, it was true.
if there was anything or anyone that unsettled sukuna's smallâ buried in the corners of his dark soulâ heart; it was his sister in law.
she'd made the instructions clear when sheâd barged in and dropped her son at his house; yuji had to participate and she needed to see medals.
usually, sukuna would just fall back on his bed, ignoring her presence all together but the last time he tried that, all his left shoes went missing for a week and so did the spinny thing in his microwave.
yes, sukuna was competitive but she was insane.
âpinky promise.â yuji mumbled, holding his pinky, not even half the size of sukunaâs thumb, out.
âyouâre not serious.â
yuji persisted, holding his pinky out until sukuna gave in, wrapping his larger one around the toddlerâs.
"okay. pinky promise or whatever.â he pointed to the starting line, ânow go over there.â
"no! i don't want." yuji cried when sukuna tried to pull him off. he tightened his grip, pinching the back of sukuna's thigh, the promise forgotten as quickly as it was made.
"motherfuâ!"
the people near him stared, one teacher with her eyebrow raised, urging him to finish that statement.
he rolled his eyes. these kids are old enough to swear. what's the big deal?
"can all under 6's please make their way to the starting line." a teacher called over a megaphone, the noise shaking yuji back into a tiger like claw on sukuna.
"i swear-," he quickly turned his temper to a minimum. "okay, let's go to the starting line." he muttered, standing up and waddled to the line with yuji stuck to his leg.
his face was scrunched, annoyance taking over his features in the form of a dark cloud no one was tall enough to see.
at the starting line, he could see that yuji wasn't the only one not in the mood for the race, with two other children crying for their mothers, attempting to run away.
there were a few who were excited, animatedly talking about how they would run and recreating it on the spot.
one who looked clueless.
and one who seemed to not care about the race at all.
sukuna carried yuji to the last lane, standing there with him while he hid behind his leg.
"uhm, excuse me sir. parents aren't allowed at the starting line. only at the stands. would you,"
the teacher looked up.
"pleaseâ"
and up.
"makeâ"
and up.
"yourâ"
and up.
"âway there."
sukuna blinked.
"no."
curt, leaving no room for argument. not that the teacher cared to. the man looked annoyed already and they didn't pay her enough to deal with that.
so she left, leaving the other parents at the line with their crying babies aswell, one eventually taking their child away from the horrors of the 50 meter sprint.
"alright children! on your marks."
the children geared up, touching the floor with their hands, mimicking what the teacher on the side was doing.
"get set."
the whistle blew and off some of them went. some hopped into another's line. some stalled, looking around to be told what to do.
yujiâ he still held onto his uncle's leg.
"don't embarrass me." sukuna muttered under his breath before pulling the kid off of him and doing the unthinkable.
he ran.
half speed towards the finish line, off to the side to not interfere with the other children.
he heard a loud wail behind him.
he didn't turn back, and couldn't help the grin that formed on his face when heard the flat, clumsy footsteps that followed after.
yuji ran snot and tear faced after his uncle. running like some big dog had been chasing after him.
he didnât look back, eyes basically shut as his loud cries made it over the long distance.
the other parents and teachers giggled. what's funnier than a man build like a tank running in a children's race? but what was sweeter than him doing it for his nephew to participate.
they all cheered, laughed and cooed.
sukuna finally made it to the finish line, turning around to see the chaos behind him.
yuji was still running, hands held out for his uncle, running face first into his pants.
sukuna cringed, knowing how much snot, tears and who know what else children excrete would be on his sweats. but at the moment it didn't matter.
yuji won the race.
he lifted the child up, a proud grin on his face and seating him on his forearm.
âyou won.â
yuji didnât care though, for he only delivered a loud smack across his uncle's face for leaving him behind.
"brat."
sukuna muttered flicking his forehead.
and off they went to get those lollipops as promised.
at the lollipop store
âyuji, i am not paying $12 for a lollipop.â
âbut you said I could get anyone i wanted.â
ânot a $12 dollar lollipop.â
âyou pinky promised.â
with that, yuji walked out with a $24 prize.
âhey! you didnât even hold your end of the promise!â
i live for unckunaâĄ
disclaimer:
this is a rewrite and repost.
i don't own any media used in this blog. all credit to their owners.
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itâs snowing softly. big lazy flakes falling slow. landing in tojiâs dark hair. sticking to megumiâs fluffy hood.
the grocery bag in tojiâs hand is light - just some milk, bananas, hot chocolate (and lollies) you forgot to grab earlier. you had stayed home to start dinner and said, 'gumiâs been cooped up all day. take him with you. he loves the snow.'
toji grumbled per usual. but didnât say no.
now theyâre walking through the park on the way back. bundled up in scarves and puffy jackets. the world quiet and pale under a blanket of white.
megumi is toddling along behind him. slowly and carefully.
toji hears the crunch of his own boots in the snow, steady and deep. then, he hears the softer pats of megumiâs smaller boots.
and then-
he hears a grunt.
turns around.
megumi is pausing every few steps⌠and very seriously, very determinedly (and adorably) placing his feet directly in the footprints toji left behind.
toji just blinks.
megumi blinks back. then steps into the next footprint. stumbles a little. adjusts his little body.
ââŚwhatâre you doinâ back there?â toji calls.
megumi frowns. âwalk.â
âyouâre copyinâ me?â
the toddler shrugs, like maybe.
toji watches him.
tiny arms out for balance. cheeks pink from the cold. green eyes narrowed in full concentration. he looks like a serious little snowball. a puff with a mission.
and something about it - makes tojiâs chest feel weird.
soft. full. stupidly fond.
he turns back around.
but this time, he walks slower. and he steps a little closer together. so the footprints are easier to follow.
he doesnât say anything.
doesnât look back yet.
just walks.
soft step. soft step.
and behind him, megumi toddles forward. a perfect little echo.
boot in footprint. boot in footprint.
every now and then, gumi hums a little tune. softly. distracted. proud.
they pass a family building an ugly looking snowman. a fat dog running in circles, stupidly happy. a couple with their arms linked, smiling.Â
toji adjusts the bag in his hand.
then looks back again.
megumiâs still going. a little red in the face now. but still so determined. stepping exactly where toji stepped, fully confident. like he knows he wonât slip. like he trusts that itâs safe where papaâs already been.
and tojiâs heart cracks open just a little bit more.
he crouches. waits.
when megumi finally toddles up to him, he plops down into the snow dramatically.Â
âmy feet,â he says, pointing. âtired.â
toji chuckles and ruffles his spiky hair. âwanna ride?â
megumi nods immediately. lifts his arms. toji hoists him up with one arm, rests him on his hip and holds him close.
âyou did good,â he murmurs.
megumi rests his cheek against tojiâs shoulder. âi walk in your steps.â
âi know, kid,â he says, voice uncharacteristically soft. âi know.â
and the snow keeps on falling.
A/N: this is heavily inspired by that one amazing artist on x, who makes the CUTEST fushiguro family drawings! @/DDub1618
SYNOPSIS â if heâs not cheating on you⌠what is he hiding?
CONTENT â hurt/comfort | established relationship, reader being stubborn & kissing
WC â 6.5k
NOTE â iâve only just started watching invincible and itâs safe to say iâm obsessed so⌠enjoy this and i apologise if heâs mischaracterised :)
MASTERLIST
You and Mark were supposed to be studying. That had been the plan for the last forty minutes, anyway. Your notebook was open, your textbook was spread across your desk, and a half-finished problem sat in the margin while you tried to focus on the page.Â
Behind you, Mark had been making a spectacular effort to be absolutely no help at all. He was stretched out on your bed like he lived there, one arm behind his head, the other lazily tapping against his knee as he watched you work.
Every few minutes he would try to distract you, making some dramatic comment about how unfair homework was, how cruel teachers were, and how there were clearly better ways to spend an evening.
Like watching a movie. Like eating snacks. Like doing literally anything elseâor each other.
âYouâre not convincing me,â you said without looking up, writing another line of answers.
Mark sighed like you had personally wounded him. âIâm not trying to convince you. Iâm trying to save you.â
You fought the smile threatening to show, shaking your head. âFrom algebra?âÂ
âFrom suffering,â he countered, shrugging.Â
You shot him a look, and he grinned that easy, maddening grin that always made it hard to stay irritated for very long. You tried to go back to your notes, but Mark was clearly enjoying himself now, watching you pretend not to notice him while he made it impossible to concentrate. Every time you got through a line, he found another way to pull your attention away.
There was a moment of quiet before Mark stood, the faint creak of the floorboards giving him away just before his hands settled gently on your shoulders. You froze for half a second before relaxing under his touch. His thumbs pressed gently into the knots there, slow and careful at first, then with just enough pressure to make you exhale and sink back into the chair.
âYou are evil,â you muttered.
âMaybe,â he said, voice low and amused near your ear. âBut Iâm useful.â
His hands moved in a steady rhythm, warm through the fabric of your shirt, easing the tension you had not realised you were holding. You tried to keep reading, but then he bent slightly and pressed a light, teasing kiss along your jaw.
âMark,â you warned, but it came out weaker than you meant it to.
âHm?â he shot back immediately.Â
He did it again, just once, softer this time, and you turned your head just enough to catch the smug look on his face.
âYou are absolutely doing this on purpose,â you whispered, fighting to keep your eyes from closing.
âMaybe I just want you to take a break,â he replied lightly.
âYou want me to give up,â you grumbled.
âI prefer the phrase âspend quality time with your boyfriend.ââ he corrected, amusement threading through his voice.
That finally broke your resistance. You let out a long breath, closed your textbook with a thud, and leaned back against him.
âFine,â you said. âWe can watch a movie.â
Mark looked far too pleased with himself. âKnew youâd come around.â
âDonât act like you won,â you scoffed, rolling your eyes teasingly.
âI did win,â he hummed, shrugging.
âYou cheated,â you shook your head, turning around and gently shoving his shoulder.
âRomantic persuasion is not cheating,â he grinned boyishly,
You laughed despite yourself, and he kissed the top of your head like heâd been waiting for that exact sound.
A few minutes later, the two of you were on your bed, the homework forgotten in a messy pile. Mark had pulled the covers up, one arm slung loosely around you while the movie menu glowed softly on the screen. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the TV and the faint noise outside your window.
The opening credits of the movie had just begun to play when his phone buzzed. Mark checked it, and something in his expression changed so fast you almost missed it. The teasing softness vanished, replaced by a tense, unreadable look that flickered across his face and disappeared just as quickly.
âWhat is it?â you asked, trying to see what was on his phone.
He locked the screen too quickly. âNothing.â
You frowned at him. âThat didn't sound like nothing.â
He gave you a smile, but it did not quite reach his eyes. âItâs probably just something I need to handle.â
âHandle?â you repeated, confusion written on your face.
âYeah. Justâsomething came up,â he avoided your eyes, running a hand through his hair.
You watched him carefully, searching his face for the usual joke, the usual easy explanation, but it did not come.
He stood up, already halfway to the door. âIâm sorry.â
âMark?â you said, sitting up.
He hesitated, like he wanted to say more. For one second, it looked like he might. Then the phone buzzed again, and whatever he had been about to tell you shut down completely.
âIâll make it up to you,â he said quickly.
âThat is not an explanation,â you mumbled, crossing your arms.
âI know,â he whispered, looking genuinely torn for a moment, and that made it worse.Â
Whatever was pulling him away, it was important enough to make him leave in a hurry, but not important enough for him to tell you what it was. Before you could ask again, he leaned down and kissed your forehead, quick and careful, like he was trying to leave something soft behind in place of the unanswered questions.
âDonât finish the movie without me,â he added, giving you a small, apologetic smile.
Then he was gone. You were left sitting on your bed with the movie menu still open, the room suddenly too quiet, and his side of the blanket already going cold.
A while passed before you heard anything. At first, you tried to keep the movie on. You really did. It was something light, something easy, but you barely registered the opening scene. Your attention kept drifting back to the door, to your phone, to the silence heâd left behind.
Eventually, you gave up. The TV was still playing softly in the background, but youâd curled up on your bed, wrapped tightly in Markâs hoodieâthe one heâd left behind without thinking. It still smelled like him, faintly warm and familiar, which only made the knot in your chest worse.
The movie had long since blurred into meaningless noise, the soft glow of the screen casting flickering light across your room. You told yourself you werenât waiting but you absolutely were. So when you finally heard the window shift open, the sound was sharp enough to make you sit up immediately.Â
Mark climbed in like it was the most normal thing in the world, landing lightly on his feet. He was holding a couple of takeout bags, andâof courseâhe had that same stupid, boyish smile on his face, like nothing had happened.
âHey,â he said easily, glancing up at you like this was just another normal night. âYouâre still awake.â
You stared at him for a second, completely unimpressed. âBrilliant observation.â
His smile faltered just slightly, but he recovered fast, lifting the bags a little like they explained everything. âI brought peace offerings.â
You stared at him. âThat is not the point, Mark.â
He winced, setting the food down carefully on your desk like he was approaching a wild animal. âOkay. Fair.â
You didnât move from where you were, still wrapped up in his hoodie. âYou left me sitting here with no explanation,â you said, each word sharper than the last. âYou just walked out. No explanation. No message. Nothing.â
âI said Iâd make it up to you,â he tried, though there wasnât much confidence behind it now.
âThatâs not making it up to me,â you shot back immediately. âThatâs avoiding the problem.â
Mark dragged a hand through his hair, the easy confidence from earlier slipping through his fingers. âI know, I justââ
You stood up then, the movement quick and deliberate, arms crossing tightly over your chest. âYou what?â
âI had to go,â he said, softer now. âIt wasnât something I could ignore.â
Your jaw tightened. âAnd you couldnât tell me that before you left?â
âI didnât have time,â he protested weakly.
You let out a short, incredulous breath. âYou had time to grab takeout.â
âThat was after,â he mumbled.
âThatâs not helping your case,â you said, briefly clenching your jaw.Â
âNo, Iâyeah, I know,â he muttered, glancing away for a second.
He let out a small breath, clearly trying to figure out how to fix this without actually explaining anything. It wouldâve almost been impressive if it wasnât so frustrating.
âYouâre mad,â he said, like he was testing the obvious.
âOh, really?â you said sarcastically.
âI deserve that,â he nodded slowly.Â
âYes,â you said flatly. âYou do.â
He opened his mouth, probably to make some half-hearted excuse, but you had already noticed the detail that ruined any chance he had of talking his way out of it.Â
Just above the collar of his shirt, barely hidden beneath the fabric, was a dark mark on the side of his neck. Faintly purple, edged in red, like it had only just started to bloom. Small enough that he mightâve thought you wouldnât noticeâbut obvious enough that once you did, it was impossible to look away from.
Your stomach dropped so fast it almost made you feel sick. âWhat is that?â
Mark blinked, caught off guard. âWhat is what?â
Your eyes didnât leave his neck. You were already moving before he could react, closing the distance between you in two quick steps. Your hand came up without thinking, fingers brushing lightly against his skin as you tilted his chin to the side. Your fingers hovered just beneath his jaw, eyes locked on the mark.
âThat,â you said, and even you could hear the strain in your voice now. âOn your neck.â
The instant he saw the change in your face, Mark lifted a hand to cover it, a little too quickly to be casual. His fingers pressed over the spot like he could make it disappear by sheer force of will.
âItâs not what you think,â he said, words rushing out now. âItâs nothing.â
You stared at him, disbelief crashing through you so fast it almost made you laugh. âThat is not nothing.â
âItâs justâuhââ he stalled, eyes flicking away for a second like he was searching for somethingâanythingâthat would sound believable.
âA what, Mark?â you pressed, your voice sharper now. âBecause it looks a lot like a hickey.â
His expression changed immediately. âItâs not a hickey.â
âIt really looks like one,â you said bluntly.
âItâs not,â he insisted.
You let out a short, humorless laugh, stepping back just enough to look at him properly. âYou disappeared for over an hour, came back with food, and have a suspicious mark on your neck.â
âIt is not suspicious,â Mark said dumbly.
âIt is extremely suspicious,â you quipped.Â
Mark exhaled through his nose, the kind of breath that meant he was trying very hard not to react the wrong way. âI know how this looksââ
âDo you?â you cut in, your voice rising now, frustration slipping through. âBecause from where Iâm standing, it looks pretty bad.â
He looked genuinely thrown now, as if he had expected anything except this. His hands lifted slightly, then hovered uselessly at his sides like he didnât know what to do with them. âItâs not what you think.â
âThen explain it,â you huffed.Â
âI canât,â Mark said weakly.
You laughed again, but this time it broke a little. âOf course you canât.â
âItâs notââ he stopped himself, jaw tightening, then tried again, softer. âItâs really not what you think, I swear.â
You shrugged, losing all patience, âThen what is it?â
âI justââ He shook his head, frustrated, like the words were there but he physically couldnât say them. âI canât explain it right now.â
âRight now?â you repeated, incredulous. âWhen exactly were you planning on explaining it, Mark? Because right now would be great.â
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Nothing. And that silence was worse than anything he could have said. You stepped back again, putting space between you, arms folding tighter around yourself as the sleeves of his hoodie slipped over your hands again.Â
âYou know what?â you said, your tone suddenly very still. âDonât.â
âDonât what?â he asked quietly.
âDonât lie to me.â Your voice wasnât as steady now, no matter how hard you tried. âIf you donât want to tell me, fine. But donât stand there and act like Iâm stupid.â
âI donât think youâre stupid,â he shook his head, frowning.
âThen stop treating me like I am,â you said exasperatedly.Â
âIâm notââ he tried to protest.
âYou disappeared,â you said, your voice shaking now. âYou came back with takeout like that fixes everything, and now you wonât even tell me the truth.â
âI am telling you the truth,â Mark tried, his voice quietening, âjust not all of it.â
âThatâs the problem, Mark,â you sighed.
Silence fell between you again, heavier this time. The food sat untouched on the desk. The movie still played in the background, completely forgotten. Mark looked at you like he wanted to fix it, like he just didnât know how without breaking something bigger.
âI didnât do anything like that,â he said quietly. âI promise.â
Your eyes stung, and the frustration in your chest finally spilled over.
âFuck, Mark,â you snapped, the frustration finally spilling over. âJust admit it! Youâre cheating on me.â
âWoahââ Mark said immediately, stepping forward, hands raised like he could stop the words from landing. His eyes went wide, panic flashing across his face. âNoâno, Iâm notâI promise, Iâm notââ
âThen what am I supposed to think?â you shot back, your voice breaking despite yourself. âBecause you wonât tell me anything!â
âI know,â he said, desperate now, running a hand through his hair again. âI know how it looks, I justâI canât explain it, okay? Not like this.â
âThatâs not fair,â you whispered painfully.
âIâm trying!â he snapped, then immediately softened, regret flashing across his face. âIâm trying, I justââ
You shook your head, swallowing hard, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you looked away from him. âYou need to leave.âÂ
Mark didnât move. For a second, it was like he hadnât processed itâlike if he just stood still long enough, the moment might rewind, undo itself, give him another chance to fix it properly.
âYou donât mean that,â he said quietly.
You did. But you couldnât say it againânot without your voice breaking completelyâso instead, you turned away from him.
âCan we justâtalk about this?â he tried, softer now. âPlease?â
The hurt in his voice almost made you falter, but you swallowed it down and shook your head, already moving back toward your bed. âWe are talking about it, Mark. Youâre just not saying anything.â
He took a step closer. âJustâgive me a minute, okay? I can explain, I justââ
âNot right now,â you cut in, climbing into bed and pulling the blanket up around you like a shield. âThatâs what you said.â
He flinched slightly at his own words thrown back at him. âThatâs not what I meantââ
âThen what did you mean?â you snapped, turning your back to him before he could answer. You curled in on yourself, facing the wall, the fabric of his hoodie bunching under your chin as you pulled it tighter around you. âBecause Iâm donetrying to guess.â
Mark stayed where he was for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether to push again or give you the space you were clearly asking for. You could practically feel him there, just behind youâhesitating. Your shoulders stayed rigid, your hands gripping the blanket as if it were the only thing holding you together.
For a while, he didnât move at all. The silence stretched long enough that you almost thought he might ignore you, might stay anyway, might try one last time to break through the distance youâd put between you.
Instead, you heard a quiet exhale. Then the soft sound of his footsteps crossing the room. They stopped right beside the bed and you felt the mattress dip slightly as he leaned closer, hesitating againâlike even now, he wasnât sure if he was allowed.
Then, gentlyâcarefullyâhis hand brushed back just enough of your hair to expose your forehead. The kiss he pressed there was light, tentative. Lingering for just a second longer than it needed to, like he didnât quite want to pull away.
âIâm sorry,â he murmured, barely above a whisper.Â
Then the window slid open again, and a moment later, he was gone.
The next few days at school felt strangely louder than usual. Not because anything had changed in the hallsâthe same lockers slammed, the same voices echoed off the tiled floors, the same teachers called for everyone to hurry along before the bellâbut because now every place Mark appeared felt impossible to ignore.
He tried, at first, to act like nothing was wrong. You saw him in the hallway on Monday morning, just outside your second-period class. He was standing near the lockers with his backpack slung over one shoulder, talking to some classmates, but the second his eyes found you, the conversation around him seemed to fade from his attention completely. His expression shifted in that tiny, instinctive way it always did when he saw youâsoftening at the edges, like you were still the first person he wanted to look at no matter what was going on.
You kept walking, eyes forward, gripping your books a little tighter against your chest as you passed him. You could feel his stare following you anyway, warm and hesitant and full of something you refused to let yourself think about.
âHey,â he said quietly as you went by but you didn't answer.
There was the smallest pause, like he might reach out, like he might say your name again, but he didnât. By the time you glanced over your shoulder, he had already gone still, looking after you with an expression that made your stomach twist unpleasantly.
He looked like he wanted to follow but you turned away before he could. It did not get easier after that. In class, he kept trying to sit near you. If there was an empty seat beside you, he would drift toward it like he had every intention of pretending the two of you were normal. If you moved your things to claim space before he could, he would hesitate for a second, looking almost sheepish, then settle somewhere else with a look on his face that suggested he was trying very hard not to make it obvious how much that bothered him.
The second day, he did manage to sit beside you in history. You noticed his hesitation before he even sat down. He slid into the chair next to yours carefully, keeping a little too much distance between your elbows, his notebook placed neatly on the desk as if he were trying to prove he could be respectful and normal.
For a few minutes, he did not speak. He just sat there, one knee bouncing under the desk, glancing at you every so often like he was waiting for some sign that this might be the moment you finally looked at him.
You stared at the board, copied down notes, and pretended very hard that the sudden awareness of his presence did not make it difficult to breathe. Then, very quietly, so quietly you almost missed it, he nudged a folded slip of paper toward your notebook.
You ignored it, continuing to write until the bell rang. When you finally gathered your things and stood to leave, he straightened too quickly beside you, like he was hoping to catch you before you disappeared into the crowd.
âCan we talk?â he asked.
âNo,â you mumbled, walking away.
It came out sharper than you meant, but not sharp enough to stop him from looking stricken. You heard him say your name, but you were already out the door. By lunch on Wednesday, he had run out of ways to pretend he was not trying. You found him before he found you, which made the whole thing worse in a way you had not expected.
You were walking past one of the side tables near the cafeteria when you spotted him across the room. He was half turned in your direction, tray in hand, the second his eyes landing on you making his shoulders go subtly tense.Â
He looked like he had been in the middle of a joke a second earlier, but whatever expression had been there vanished the moment he saw you. He said something to the people beside himâprobably an excuse, probably nothing importantâand then he started toward you.
âWait,â he said under his breath, falling into step beside you.
âIâm busy,â you shook your head, keeping your gaze away from his.
He let out a small, humorless breath. âYouâre walking to lunch.â
âYes,â you shrugged. âBusy.â
That should have made him stop. It should have made him back off. Instead, he fell silent for a beat, then said, âIâve been trying to talk to you.â
You stopped so suddenly he nearly took another step before catching himself. The hallway around you kept moving, students threading past with bags bumping against their sides, but you and Mark stood in the middle of it all like a pair of magnets that had finally hit the wrong side of each other.
âI noticed,â you said, voice low and tight.
He looked like he had been punched and refused to show it. âThen why wonât you listen?â
You laughed once, but there was no humour in it. âYou really want to ask me that?â
For a second, he looked exactly like he had that night in your roomâstuck between saying too much and saying nothing at all. That same frustrating, helpless look. The one that made you want to yell and also made you want to believe him anyway.
He dragged a hand through his hair. âI know I messed up.â
You stared at him, then went around him without answering. His shoulders sagged slightly as you passed, and you hated that you noticed.
After that, he kept trying in smaller ways. He held doors open when you were close enough to ignore him. He slowed down in the hall just enough to make sure you would not have to squeeze past him, but not enough that it looked intentional.Â
Once, in the middle of chemistry, he quietly slid your dropped pencil back onto your desk without saying a word, his fingers brushing the edge of your notebook for the briefest second before he pulled away.
By Thursday, it had started to feel like a pattern. Mark would appear near your locker and then find an excuse to linger. He would catch your eye in the hallway, start toward you with that careful hopeful look on his face, and then stop when you turned away first.
It should have made you feel powerful. Mostly it just made everything ache. Because even when you were angry, he still looked at you like he cared. Even when you refused to speak to him, he still found ways to stay close without pushing too hard. And that made it impossible to forget how much you wanted him to simply say the right thing.
At the end of the day on Friday, you were at your locker when you heard his voice behind you.
âHey,â you heard his voice.
You did not turn around at first. Your fingers stayed on the lock, though you had already opened it three times without taking anything out.
âPlease,â he said, quieter now.
You shut the locker door slowly and finally turned. He was standing a few feet away, looking tired in a way that school had nothing to do with. His hair was a little messy, his backpack only half zipped, and there was something cautious in his expression that made him look younger than usual. More vulnerable.Â
âI just want to talk,â he said. âPlease⌠Iâll explain everything.â
âNot right now, Mark,â you sigh, averting your gaze to the floor. âEve wants toâ
âPlease,â he begged, reaching for your hand. âPlease.â
Something in the way he said itâthe way his voice dipped, the way he looked at you like this was his last shotâfinally cracked through the wall youâd been holding up all week.
You exhaled sharply through your nose. âFine. One minute.â
Relief flickered across his face so fast it almost hurt to see. âOkay. Okayâyeah, okay.â
You narrowed your eyes. âBut if you waste my timeââ
âI wonât,â he said immediately.
He led you out of the building, past the usual after-school crowd, past the buses and the noise and the lingering groups of students. The farther you went, the quieter it got, until the sounds of school faded. Eventually, he stopped near the edge of the grounds, behind a cluster of overgrown bushes and a half-forgotten fence line that no one really paid attention to.
You folded your arms, glancing around. âWow. Romantic. Really setting the mood here.â
Mark huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. âYeah, well⌠itâs private.â
Your eyes narrowed slightly. âIf you brought me out here to confess something weird, Iâm going to need you to be a lot more specific.â
He looked at you then and for a second, the nerves were obvious. âI just need you to trust me for like⌠five minutes.â
âThat depends heavily on what happens in those five minutes,â you said dryly.
Then, without much warning, Mark shrugged his backpack off his shoulder and dropped it to the ground.
You blinked. âOkayâŚ?â
He crouched down, unzipping it quickly, like heâd already made up his mind and didnât want to give himself time to hesitate again.
âMark,â you said slowly, suspicion creeping in, âwhat are you doing?â
âJustâhang on.â He pulled something out.
You pointed at the bundle in his hands. âThat. Is that your explanation?â
His face did something strange thenâhalf confusion, half realisation. âOh.â
You crossed your arms. âOh?â
Mark glanced up at you, just for a second, then back down as he stood. âI think youâre misunderstanding.â
âAm I?â you asked flatly. âBecause right now it looks like you dragged me behind the school so you could show me a superhero Halloween costume.â
That got a tiny smile out of him again, despite everything. He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose and shook his head. âItâs not a costume.â
Your eyes flicked down as he started pulling his hoodie off, and you immediately looked away, exasperated. âOh my god, are you serious right now?â
âI need you to see this,â he said, a little more urgently now. âJustâgive me a second.â
You crossed your arms tighter, leaning back slightly as you watched him, completely unimpressed. âYou know, most people go with flowers. Maybe a heartfelt speech. Not⌠stripping behind a bush.â
âYeah,â he muttered, âI figured youâd say something like that.â
You gestured vaguely at him. âBecause this is insane.â
He didnât argue with that. Instead, he pulled off his shirt, and for a second, your brain couldn't quite process what you were seeing. Bruises, faint in some places, darker in others, scattered across his chest and along his ribs.Â
Some were small, barely noticeable unless you were looking for them. Others werenât. Your gaze dropped, tracking the line of them across his stomach, the uneven pattern of healing marks that didnât make sense.Â
You couldnât look away. Because there was one mark that stood out more than the rest. It cut up from his chestâlong, thin, and darker than the others. Not round like a bruise from impact. Not scattered like the rest.
A sharp, whip-like streak that trailed upward toward his collarbone, Toward his neck. Toward the exact place whereâ
ââŚthatâsâŚâ you started, but the words didnât come out right.
Your eyes flicked from his chest to his neck, then back again, the realiSation settling in piece by piece, replacing anger with something far more uncertain.
âThatâs what I saw,â you said, your voice barely above a whisper now. âThe other night⌠That wasnâtââ you swallowed, your throat suddenly tight. âIt wasnât a hickey.â
âNo.â He shook his head once as he finished pulling the suit on. He bent down and picked up his backpack, glancing at you with an intensity that made your stomach twist. âDo you trust me?â
âAre you seriously asking me that?â you huffed, crossing your arms.
âPlease,â he whispered, his voice softer now, almost fragile. He held out his hand, and the small tremor in his fingers betrayed how serious he was. âDo you⌠trust me?â
For a second, you wanted to say no. You wanted to stay angry, wanted to keep your heart guarded and your face set in a glare that would make him finally explain himself properly.
But the truth was already pressing against everything else. So after a beat, you exhaled slowly, sliding your hand into his and, without fully trusting your own judgment, said, âYes.â
He stepped closer at once, reaching for you carefully as if he was worried you might change your mind. One arm slipped around your back, the other under your legs, and before you could fully process what he was doing, he lifted you into his arms with a steadiness that made your breath catch.
âHold on,â he murmured, adjusting his grip under your thighs. âJust hold on tight.â
âWait, whyâ?â you started, but your words dissolved into a sharp yelp as the ground dropped away. âWhat the fuck, Mark? You can fly?!â
âYes,â he said, his voice carrying the thrill of movement, the wind whipping your hair into your face. âI can fly.â
Your legs instinctively squeezed around his waist as he surged higher, the trees and the school shrinking beneath you. The sky stretched wide, the air cool and rushing, and your heart felt like it had dropped to your stomach and then tried to leap back up again.
âMarkâMark, this is not funny!â you half-shouted, half-laughed in disbelief, your face pressing instinctively into his shoulder as you held on tighter. âYouâre insaneâthis is insaneââ
âIâve got you,â he said quickly, his voice steadier than yours, grounding despite everything. âHeyâhey, look at me. Youâre safe with me.â
You shook your head instinctively. âNo, I am not looking down, I am absolutely not lookingââ
âNot down,â he said, softer now. âAt me.â
Slowlyâhesitantlyâyou lifted your head, and looked at him. The wind still rushed around you, the sky stretching endlessly behind him, but for a moment it all blurred into nothing. It was just Markâhovering there like this was the most natural thing in the world, his hands steady on you.
You searched his face, trying to reconcile this impossible, unbelievable thing, with the boy youâd been arguing with just minutes ago.
âYou can fly,â you said again, quieter this time, like saying it softer might make it make more sense.
A small, almost sheepish smile tugged at his lips. âYeah.â
You stared at him, shaking your head slightly as you tried to process everything. âYouâre⌠this⌠what?â
âIâmâŚâ he started, then stopped, exhaling softly. His eyes flicked over your face, like he was trying to read every reaction before it even happened. âIâm Invincible.â
You searched his face again, harder this time, looking for the hint of a grin, the spark of teasing, anything that would tell you this was another one of his ridiculous jokes.
You stared at him in complete disbelief. âThat is the dumbest superhero name Iâve ever heard.â
Despite himself, something almost like a laugh slipped out of him. He shrugged weakly, nodding. âYeah.â
âYouâre actually a superhero,â you whispered. âAnd you justânever thought to mention that?â
Mark let out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh but heavier. âItâs not exactly something I can just bring up over homework.â
Your gaze dropped for a second, then came back up to his. âWhy didnât you tell me?â
âBecause itâs dangerous,â he said quietly. âNot just for me.â
You frowned. âWhat does that mean?â
âIt means⌠the people I deal withâthe things I deal withâthey donât just go after me.â His voice lowered, more serious than youâd ever heard it. âThey go after people I care about. âAnd youâŚâ he hesitated, eyes flicking away for a split second before coming back to you. âYouâre not just someone I care about. I didnât want you getting hurt because of me. I thought if I kept it separateâif I didnât drag you into itâyouâd be safer.â
âYou thought lying to me was safer?â you asked, but there wasnât as much bite in it now
âI thought keeping you out of it was,â he admitted.
âYou shouldâve told me,â you said finally, your voice quieter now.
âI know,â he said softly, nodding slowly.
You furrowed your brows, angry at yourself. âI thought you were cheating on me.â
His eyes widened slightly. âI knowâand I hated that. I just didnât know how to fix it without⌠this.â
For a long second, neither of you said anything. The wind rushed past, loud and steady, tugging at your clothes and hair while the world stretched out impossibly far below. Mark was still watching you like he was bracing himselfâfor anger, for disbelief, for you to pull away from him even now.
Instead, you blinked once. Then again. And then, completely out of nowhere, a short, breathless laugh slipped out of you.
Mark froze. âWhat?â
You shook your head slightly, still staring at him like you were trying to rearrange everything you thought you knew. âIâm sorry, Iâm justââ
Another small laugh escaped you, and you dragged one hand up to your face for a second, pressing your fingers against your forehead like that might help.
âI am literally online all the time,â you said, looking back at him. âLike, chronically online.â
Markâs expression shifted, confusion cutting through the tension. âOkayâŚ?â
âAnd youâre telling me,â you continued, incredulous now, âthat my boyfriend is Invincible, and I just⌠missed it?â
He blinked at you.
You stared right back at him. âThere are videos. There are photos. There are, like, entire forums dedicated to you.â
âIâwellâyeah, probably,â he admitted awkwardly.
âAnd somehow,â you went on, lowering your hand and staring at him in pure disbelief, âmy own boyfriend being a superhero completely escaped me.â
When you put it like that, it sounded even more ridiculous.
Mark huffed out a small, nervous laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. âIn my defence, I was trying very hard to not be obvious.â
âYou broke my door once,â you said flatly.
He looked almost apologetic, but there was a tiny spark of amusement in his eyes now too. âThat was one time.â
You narrowed your eyes. âYou told me it âjust fell off its hinges.ââÂ
That earned a small, helpless laugh from him. âIt kind of didââ
âMark," you huffed, sending him a look.
âOkay, yeah, that oneâs on me," he winced.
Despite everythingâthe anger, the confusion, the lingering hurtâyour lips twitched. Just slightly. Then your expression softened again, your gaze dropping briefly to his chest, to the fading bruises, to the mark that had started all of this.
âI shouldâve noticed,â you said more quietly this time, looking back up at him. âI feel stupid.â
Markâs expression changed instantly at that, the humour fading into something softer and more careful. âHey. No, donât.â
You huffed, looking away for a second before meeting his eyes again. âYou are only getting away with this because we are floating and also because I am currently too shocked to fully yell at you.â
His smile widened a fraction. âGood to know.â
You glared at him, but the glare did not have much force behind it now. Not when you were still clinging to him in midair, not when the world had just tilted itself upside down and somehow he was still looking at you like you mattered more than the secret heâd kept.
âMark,â you said quietly after a beat, the disbelief still sitting all over your face, âyou really are ridiculous.â
âI know,â he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Your eyes flicked down to his mouth, then back up again before you could stop yourself. His grip on you shifted just slightly, careful and steady, like he was giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted to.Â
You didnât pull away, if anything, your grip on him tightened just a little. Your nose brushed against his, causing his breath to hitch slightly at the sudden closeness. Markâs eyes fluttered shut as your lips met, a sigh escaping him as he kissed you back.
His tongue traced the outline of your bottom lip, seeking entry as he pressed himself closer to youâas close as possible, just short of actually being skin to skin. He was determined to make this moment last, savouring every second of the closeness between you.Â
When you finally pulled back, it wasnât by much. Your foreheads almost brushed, your breath still mingling between you. Mark looked at you like he had just been given something he wasnât entirely sure he deserved.
âAre we okay?â he asked quietly.
âWeâre⌠getting there,â you said.
Relief softened his expression immediately, something lighter breaking through the tension heâd been holding onto all week.
âOkay,â he breathed.
There was another small pause. Then, very gently, he shifted his hold on you, glancing down toward the ground below before looking back at you again, something a little more familiarâsomething a little more Markâcreeping back into his expression.
ââŚSo,â he started, just slightly hesitant, âthis might not be the best follow-up to a life-changing revelation, butââ
You narrowed your eyes immediately. âMark.â
He smiled, just a little. âDo you fancy takeout?â
âFine,â you muttered. âBut youâre paying.â
The Parasite | serial killer!sukuna x yandere!reader
synopsis: after so many years of trying and failing, youâve finally found the one for you. heâs handsome, hardworking, and keeps to himselfâ sukunaâs perfect. well, in your eyes, he was. you're sure his victims would say otherwise. you're not supposed to know about them, by the way.
your boyfriend still has no idea that you snooped through his belongings while he was at work. let's hope it stays that way.
cw: toxic relationship, serial killer sukuna, obsessive reader, joe and love vibes tbh lol, smut, fluff, angst, more to be added
notes: ik i said this would be for kinktober but this is taking over my brain lol. thisâll be a one shot! lmk if youâd like to be tagged
one: better than i ever even knew | do it for the thrill of the rush
two: master of none
three: the devil's hand
four: i loved her too much
epilogue: i think she took my soul
side story: ryu gets bullied at school
All rights reserved Š 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.
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Debrief: Eve bailed on Mark again and you canât help the words that bubble out after.
Case Notes: everyone say thank you @splodencible for beta reading! I didnât think this was angsty enough and she helped me out. đââď¸
Youâre not the jealous type. You never really have been. Not when Mark got his first girlfriend in middle school and spent an entire week asking you what kind of candy she liked. Not when he made the varsity baseball team and suddenly had half the school orbiting him like he was the sun. Not even when he started dating Samantha Eve Wilkins, glowing and brilliant and everything you quietly suspected you could never compete with.
You told yourself you were happy for him. You practiced the smile in the mirror until it fit your face like a well-worn pair of shoes. Most days, it even felt true. Tonight is not one of those days, though.
The burger joint smells like grease, salt, and teenage nostalgia. The kind of place where the booths have cracked vinyl and the milkshake machine screams like a wounded animal every time someone orders vanilla.
Mark sits across from you, hunched over a basket of fries he hasnât touched. His hair is still a little messy from his patrol as Invincible, soft waves flattened on one side. Thereâs a faint bruise blooming along his jaw, purple creeping under his golden skin. He keeps poking at a fry like it personally offended him.
You watch him for a moment, heart doing that familiar, treacherous squeeze before you approach with caution, âShe cancel again?â
He shrugs. Too fast and causal. A performance you know all too well. Youâve known him long enough to recognize when heâs pretending everything is fine. Heâs about as subtle as a marching band in a library.
âYeah,â he says, forcing a small smile, âSomething came up.â
Something always comes up with her when the two of them have plans, and you always end up with Mark to pick up the pieces.
You bite the inside of your cheek, tasting iron and all the built up frustration. Not at her, not really. At the situation. At the way he keeps showing up for someone who keeps leaving the door half-closed, and at the way youâre sitting right here, wide open. Youâre always sitting right there.
âWell,â you say, grabbing a fry and pointing it at him like a tiny golden sword, âher loss. These fries are elite. Crispy, salty, borderline life-changing. Sheâs practically missing the eighth wonder of the world here.â
A ghost of a laugh escapes him. Small, but real, and making your heart do that stupid, traitorous flutter, âThere is no way fries are comparable to the wonders of the world, Y/N.â
âYou clearly havenât had the right fries then.âYou say with a grin, shoving the basket toward him.
He rolls his eyes, but he takes one. Then another. The tension in his shoulders loosens a notch, like a knot finally starting to untangle.
Victory. Youâll take it.
You lean back in the booth, watching him eat, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. This is your specialty. The emotional first aid. Bandaging invisible bruises with jokes and junk food. Youâve been doing it for years, after all.
Later, youâre both sitting on the hood of his car in the parking lot, the night wrapped around you like a dark blanket. Streetlights spill golden across the puddles on the asphalt. The air smells like spring rainfall.
Your shoulders touch. Itâs such a small thing. But your body registers it like a lightning strike.
Mark tilts his head back, staring up at the sky, âYou ever think about how weird everything is now?â
You glance at him, your head tilting a bit as you look at him, your gaze roaming over his stupid, perfect face, âDefine weird.â
He gestures vaguely upward, and then towards himself, âFlying. Fighting aliens. Trying to keep my grades from tanking. Dating someone who can rearrange matter at the molecular level.â
You snort, gently pushing your shoulder into his, âYeah, that last one would keep me up at night too.â
He huffs out a laugh, breath fogging faintly in the cool air. For a moment, thereâs quiet. Comfortable and familiar. The kind of silence that only exists between people who have known each other since scraped knees and science fair disasters.
Then he speaks again, his voice soft as those brown puppy eyes stare blankly ahead, âI donât know what Iâd do without you.â
Your heart stutters. Hard enough to hurt, as you try to ignore twinge. You keep your gaze fixed on the streetlight ahead, pretending your pulse isnât doing gymnastics through your veins.
âYouâd survive,â you say lightly, âYouâre basically indestructible.â
âThatâs not what I mean.â His voice is closer now, a deep hum settling in your ears and you risk a glance at him. Heâs looking at you.
âYou always know how to make things better,â he says, âEven when everythingâs a mess.â
The words land softly, but they echo between your ribs, rippling like a dropped stone in deep water. Because this is the part that hurts the most.
You do know how to make things better. You know his favorite comfort food. You know the exact joke that will make him laugh when heâs spiraling. You know how he takes his coffee, how he cracks his knuckles when heâs nervous, how he gets quiet when heâs scared.
You know him, and you love him.
The realization sits in your chest, heavy and glowing. Because you know you donât love him as just your best friend. You love him, in that deep, soul crushing way that makes you question your morality. What you would do protect him, how you would bend until you break to make sure his heart stays beating steady and unbroken.
You swallow. Your voice comes out significantly steadier than you feel, âThatâs what best friends are for, dummy.â
You bump your shoulder into his again. He smiles, soft and grateful, the kind of smile that makes your chest ache in the sweetest, cruelest way.
Inside, your heart folds in on itself. Like a letter youâre not ready to send. Above you, the stars keep shining, indifferent and beautiful, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil youâre facing. And you sit there beside him, close enough to touch, wondering how someone can be so near and still feel just out of reach.
And⌠Jealousy is an ugly word. Itâs bitter and small, and so not you. Youâve spent years convincing yourself it doesnât belong to you. But sitting here under the hum of the streetlight, shoulder pressed to his, listening to him talk about a girl who keeps slipping through his fingers, you finally admit the truth curling in your chest.
You are jealous. Not of her powers, or her brilliance, or beauty. Of her proximity. Of the way she gets to hold his hand without thinking twice, of the way she gets the soft parts of him youâve been carefully guarding for years.
Because she doesnât see it, see him. Not the way you do. She misses the way he always gives the last fry to whoever heâs with, even when heâs starving. She misses how he rubs the back of his neck when heâs nervous, how he hums under his breath when heâs trying to concentrate, how he looks at the sky like heâs carrying the weight of the whole planet on his shoulders. She misses the quiet hero, the boy beneath the suit.
And God, you wish she knew what she had. Because you do. Youâve always known.
Your chest tightens until breathing feels like youâre dragging a bowling ball through wet cement. The words claw at your throat, sharp and desperate, and before you can shove them back down where they belong, they spill out, âI love you.â
âYeah, I know I loveââ
âNo, Mark. I love you.âThe confession lands between you like shattered glass and Mark freezes.
You feel it instantly, the way his body goes rigid beside yours, the way the easy warmth thatâs always existed between you flickers and stutters. Panic floods your veins, hot and dizzying, but the dam is already broken. The truth keeps rushing out.
âI didnât mean to,â you continue, voice trembling, hands gripping the edge of the hood like itâs the only thing keeping you upright, âI tried really hard not to, Mark. I told myself it was just friendship, that I was being dramatic, that it would pass.â
A shaky laugh escapes you, brittle as thin ice, âBut it didnât. It just kept getting bigger, andâand louder. Every time you smiled at me, every time you called me first when something went wrong, every time you showed up at my door looking like the world had chewed you up and I was the only place you felt safe. Me. Not her.â
Your vision blurs. You blink hard, but the tears come anyway, hot streams rolling down your cheeks.
âI know you love her,â you whisper, âI know that. And I swear Iâve tried to be happy for you. I am happy for you. But it hurts, Mark. It hurts watching you give your heart to someone who keeps dropping it, when I would hold it like it was the most precious thing in the universe. Not like itâs invincible.â
Markâs head snaps up at that, hurt flashing across his face before he can hide it, not that youâre even really looking at him.
âThatâs not fair,â he says, voice tight, defensive in a way youâve rarely heard directed at you, âSheâs not dropping it. Sheâs trying. You donât know everything thatâs going on with her.â
A hollow laugh slips out of you, sharp around the edges.
âI know enough, Mark.â You swipe at your cheeks, frustrated when more tears follow immediately after, âI know she cancels. I know she disappears. I know you sit there pretending it doesnât bother you while you pick at cold fries and tell me itâs fine.â
His jaw clenches, shoulders squaring like heâs bracing for impact from the last place he has ever expected it, âSheâs dealing with a lot,â he insists, âMore than most people. You canât justâ just judge her like that.â
âIâm not judging her,â you shoot back, voice cracking despite your best effort, âIâm judging the way you keep getting hurt and acting like it doesnât matter.â
Silence snaps between you, tense and humming. You take a shaky breath, forcing the words out before fear can swallow them again.
âYou deserve someone who shows up, Mark. Every time. Not when itâs convenient for them, or when the world isnât on fire. Every time. Big shit, small shit. All of it, Mark.â
âShe does show up,â he says, quieter now, like heâs trying to convince himself as much as you. His eyes flicker, uncertainty creeping in, but stubborn loyalty holding the line steady, âYou just⌠donât see it.â
Your shoulders sag, exhaustion washing over you in a heavy wave as you speak softly, âI see you, Mark.â
Silence swallows the parking lot. You finally turn to look at him, and the expression on his face makes your stomach drop.
Itâs a mixture of everything you wouldnât want it to be in this moment. Shock, confusion, guilt. Love nowhere to be found.
âIâm sorry,â he says quietly.
The words are soft and gentle. Careful. Like heâs afraid anything louder might break you completely.
âI⌠I didnât know,â he continues, running a hand through his hair, eyes darting anywhere but your face, âYouâre my best friend. You mean everything to me, and I never wanted to hurt you or anything.â
Each sentence lands like a slow, steady bruise. He slides off the hood of the car, movements stiff, uncertain. The distance between you grows by a few inches, then a few more, until the warmth of his shoulder is gone entirely.
âI think⌠I should go,â he murmurs.
Another apology sits heavy in the air, unspoken but obvious. You nod, slipping off the hood as well, because speaking feels impossible now. Because if you open your mouth, youâre afraid the sound that comes out will be something broken and unrecognizable.
He hesitates for a second, like he wants to say more. Like he wishes there was a version of this night that didnât end with both of you standing on opposite sides of an invisible fault line.
But there isnât.
So he climbs into the car, starts the engine, and pulls out of the parking lot, red taillights shrinking into the darkness until they disappear completely.
And youâre left sitting under the streetlight alone, heart cracked wide open, finally empty of all the secrets⌠and possibly down one best friend.
đŞInvincible MasterlistđŞ đŚReturn To The BatcaveđŚ
NOTE. for the resident tsukishima lover @marisolls !
âYou sure youâre not drunk?â
Is like asking Tsukishima if the sky is blue.
âTipsy.â
âTipsy,â you repeat, snorting. âIf you say so.â
âI am,â he tells you again. He doesnât remember how many times heâs said itâ
Because itâs true. He was tipsy. Not an incapable drunk. He knew his limits, and he was well aware that heâs always been lightweight, so itâs only responsible for him to just be a little drunk.
He feels your hand on his forehead, then on his cheek, probably to check his temperature. Maybe to check if he was actually still conscious and breathing. Tsukishima likes it, so he leans into your touch, murmuring something under his breath that even he did not understand.
âHm?â
âIâm home.â
âYou are,â you nod. âDid you have fun?â
He nods as well. âBeen a while.â
In the in-betweens of his consciousness, Tsukishima vaguely remembers you taking off his shoes, and now youâre helping him with his tie. The one that miraculously hasnât been made into a headbandâor worse, strangled him throughout his night escapade with old friends.
He reaches up, hands fumbling with yours in an attempt to help. He wants to help.Â
He wants to make life easier for you with his help.Â
âKei,â you scold him. âLet me do it, please?â
Andâ
And itâs not fair. So he says that, too.
âItâs not fair,â he huffs, relenting.
âWhatâs not fair?â
âThat youâre taking care of me.â
He hears you laugh, and he slumps back against the couch, huffing again.Â
âItâs not funny,â he murmurs. âIâm serious here.â
âWell, what do you want me to do? Leave you in the izakaya while Iâm peacefully sleeping without my husband beside me?â
The thought isnât too unpleasant for Tsukishima. Heâd rather have you hereâat home, well-restedâinstead of waiting for him
â...Maybe.â
You sigh, though thereâs no particular annoyance in your next words, Tsukishima hopes.
âThatâs stupid.â
And now that heâs thinking about it, yeah. Maybe that was stupid.
What kind of wife wouldnât worry for her husbandâs well-being while he was out? Youâre definitely not that kind.
His glasses slide slightly down his nose, and youâre quick to fix them without asking. He feels your fingers brush his cheek once again in the process.
Tsukishima paused.
ââŚHey,â he says.
âYes?â
âYouâre touching my face.â
You hum. âI am.â
He swallows. âOkay.â
You stood straighter and turned to the kitchen, probably for waterâyou always think ahead like thatâand Tsukishimaâs eyes followed you automatically. He reaches out without thinking and lightly catches the sleeve of your cardigan.
ââŚstay.â
âIâm not going anywhere,â you say easily.
His grip tightens just a little. âPromise?â
He knows how he probably looks right now. His cheeks are faintly flushed and his eyes are heavy-lidded but longing. Because itâs youâand Tsukishima is ok with looking like this because itâs only for you.
âI promise.â
âOkay,â he murmurs, relieved, and lets go. âI just wanted to check.â
When you returned, you sat beside him and held the glass to his lips. âDrink.â
He obeys, because apparently drunk him is very cooperative. When heâs done, he sighs and leans sideways, his shoulder bumping into yours. He doesnât move awayâsimply doesnât want to. Instead, he adjusts until his head rests against your shoulder, then adjusts again so this time his head rests somewhat uncomfortably on your neck.
He feels you still, then relaxes, one arm coming up to steady him. âYouâre very cuddly tonight,â you noted.
He made a negating sound, pressing closer to you. âThatâs not true.â
âIt is.â
âIâm only like this with you,â he says, like this is an important distinction that must be clarified immediately. âEveryone else is⌠a bother.â
You laughed. âIâm honored.â
âŚ
ââŚdid you know,â he starts, words careful despite the slur creeping in (heâs in a losing battle against sleep, but he remembers he still has to brush his teeth), âthat I think about you a lot?â
âI would hope so. Weâre married.â
âYes, butââ He frowns, clearly struggling to articulate whatever he wanted to say.Â
His hand lifts, fingers flexing like heâs trying to grab the right words out of the air. âLike⌠little things. During the day. Iâll see something stupidâlike a cat that looks judgmentalâand Iâll think, you would laugh at that. Or when Iâm annoyed, I think about how you make tea. You do that thing with the spoon.â
âThe thing with the spoon?â You tilt your head, intrigued.
âYou tap it twice,â he replies, nodding, very serious. âOn the rim. Every time. Even when you donât need to.â
ââŚI never noticed that.â
âI notice.â
He shifts on the couch, suddenly restless, hands fidgeting in your embrace. âIâm not good at saying things,â he continues, voice quieter now. âI know that. I think I sound stupid when I try. Or obvious. Or like Iâm saying something everyone already knows.â
âKeiâŚâ
âBut I love you,â he blurts out, too fast, tooâtoo not very tipsy of him. âLikeâreally love you. Not in the normal way. In the way where my chest feels weird when youâre tired, and I want to fix it, but I donât know how. In the way where I want to come home faster just because I know youâre here.â
He swallows, Adamâs apple bobbing.
âAnd sometimes I worry,â he admits. âThat I donât say it enough. That youâll think I donât feel it as much as I do.â
So this is what it felt like to hold your feelings on your sleeves and hope the other person wouldnât turn you away because youâre too much or too little.
âKei, I know.â
He pulls back and looks at you, startled. âYou do?â
You nod. âYou show it in your own way. A hundred little ways.â
His eyes sting, just a little. He blinks rapidly, scoffing weakly. Since when did he have the time to have tears glossing over his eyes?
âWow. Iâmââ He laughs once, breathy and embarrassed. âIâm way more emotional than I thought.â
âItâs kind of cute,â you tell him.
He huffs. How good you are with the words is just so⌠so right for him.
âDonât tell anyone.â
âYour secretâs safe.â
He hides his face on your shoulder. His voice comes muffled now. âYouâre really patient with me.â
âSomeone has to be.â
He knows that. That someone has to be, or else heâd maybe grow old and gray alone, with the world hating him or something.
ââŚthank you for bringing me home.â
SEUMYO Š 2026. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.
Some of yall gotta stop writing CC x OC fics and tagging them in the x reader category and saying that we can just imagine it as an x reader fic itâs annoying and I can tell you that no one is willing to be your oc in a story with the character/s they like
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thinking about being oikawaâs younger girlfriend and how your relationship is lowk controversial to people and him purposely getting you pregnant . .
cw. age gap ( toru is 32 and reader is 21 ), breeding kink, mating press, pregnancy ( implied + confirmed ), praising, creampie : 2k words
youâre twenty-one, still in college, still figuring out how to properly âadultâ while oikawaâs thirty-two, a pro volleyball star whoâs been globe-trotting since before you even hit high school. the age gap hits people like a spike to the gut. his fans on social media typing furious threads about how youâre âtoo youngâ or âjust after his fame and money.â even your friends hesitate sometimes. âheâs hot, but⌠isnât he kinda old for you?â they murmur over coffee. and his friends? iwaizumi would roll his eyes and calls him a cradle-robber in jest, but thereâs that undercurrent of judgment.
oikawa doesnât care. never has. he struts into rooms with you on his arm like youâre his trophy - which, in a way, you are.
he loves you, and thatâs all heâs ever known. he wonât let some dumb opinions from other people ruin what you have. if anything, he loves proving them wrong and making them realize that what you two have is real.
your boyfriend loves spoiling you silly, expensive birkins that you stare at for like a second, spontaneous trips to argentina where you can watch his matches live or when you visit, booking first-class seats and whispering filthy promises in your ear the whole flight like the tease he is. he would also send flowers to your dorm weekly - massive bouquets that make your roommates jealous. âfor my pretty little thingâ the cards always read, signed with a flourish and a heart.
he treats you like youâre delicate porcelain one minute, then fucks you like youâre just his toy.
the controversy fuels him, pisses him off in that way where he just wants to piss them off more. âlet them talk,â he says one night after a particularly nasty online thread blows up. youâre curled in his lap on his balcony overlooking the city, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh. âi love you. nothing else matters, yeah?â
but deep down? he wants to rub it in their faces more. wants to make the scandal permanent. irreversible.
thatâs how you end up here. pressed into the mattress of his luxury apartment that he owns in tokyo, legs folded up by your ears in a brutal mating press.
heâs been teasing you since dinner at some expensive restaurant, whispering filthy shits he plans to do once you get back to his place. your cheeks are burning from embarrassment, but by the time he finally gets you home, your panties are soaking wet.
now heâs got you pinned under him, cock buried so deep you swear you feel him in your throat. heâs not gentle tonight. no. heâs pissed at the world for daring to question you two. and heâs taking it out on your poor, fluttering cunt.
âfuuuck, look at you,â he groans, voice rough. hips snapping forward with a wet smack that echoes off the walls. âtaking my cock like a good girl... so pretty... so fucking tight for me, baby. youâre made for my cock, arenât you?â
you whimper, nodding frantically. your nails scraping down his broad back - leaving angry red lines. his abs flex with every brutal thrust, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours. heâs so much bigger, broader. years of pro training making him a wall of muscle that traps you completely under him, making you take his cock while you cling to him and just take everything he gives like some useless fuckdoll.
he pulls back just enough to watch himself disappear inside you. your pussy lips stretched thin around his fat girth - thick veins pulsing, base already coated in your cream in thick white rings. âshitâ see that, angel? your greedy cuntâs sucking me in. doesnât wanna let go. knows it needs my cum deep inside.â
youâre babbling incoherently, brain too mushy to speak clearly. âtooruuu... please sooo deepâ sâtoo much...!â
he lets out a breathy laugh and leans down to nip your earlobe. âyeah? you can take it, pretty. you always do... such a good baby for me.â
his words sends heat rushing through you. your pussy clenching hard around him, causing him to hiss and slams in harder. the headboard thuds against the wall, your tits bouncing with every impact. he latches onto one nipple, sucking hard enough to bruise while his thumb finds your clit and rubs it messily in rough circles that make your vision blur.
âbeg for itâ he demands, his voice low. commanding. his eyes locked on yours - dark chocolate blown wide with lust. âbeg for my cum. tell me how bad you want me to knock you up. piss off all those idiots who think youâre not good for me.â
that made you break. tears starts spilling over as the pleasure coils tightened. âpleaseeee! tooruâ want your baby... wanna be full of you... please breed meâ hnnghhhh... donât care what they sayâjust cum insideâ pleasepleasepleaseââ
âfuckâ thatâs my girl.â he groans deeply, pistoning his hips faster, thrusts turning more brutal. the wet squelch of your cunt getting pounded fills the room, slick dripping down your ass, pooling on the sheets. he spits on your clit then smears it with his thumb and watches you arch and scream.
âgonna fill this pretty pussy up,â he promises, his breath ragged. âpump you so full it leaks out. then fuck it back in. make sure it takes, yeah?â
youâre sobbing now, so overstimulated but still taking his cock like a champ, your creamy cunt fluttering wildly around him. âyes yes...! do itâ breed me tooru.. need itââ
he finally snaps. he gave you one last vicious thrust then buries himself to the hilt and grinds deeply in circles, his fat cockhead pressed right against your cervix as he unloads hot thick ropes of cum that paints your walls. he fills you pulse after pulse, so much you feel it swelling your belly a little, leaking out around his base because thereâs no room left.
he doesnât pull out and stays plugged in. he starts to roll his hips slowly now, pushing his cum deeper inside. âgood girl,â he murmurs, kissing your tears away. âgonna keep you like this all night. make sure it sticks.â
you shiver then, wrapping your legs tighter around him, keeping him buried inside you. he nuzzles your neck, whispering sweet nothings to you until you fall sleep.
+
several weeks later, the test comes back positive.
heâs back in argentina since last month so you had to break the news to him through call.
you call him at 3 a.m. he picks up on the second ring even though itâs morning practice for him.
âbaby?â his voice is instantly soft, alert. âeverything okay?â
you swallow, fingers shaking around the phone.
âtooru... i- iâm pregnant.â
it was silence at first.
then you hear the softest, happiest laugh youâve ever heard from him.
âyeah?â he breathes, you can picture him - sitting on the locker room bench, head tipped back, eyes shining. âweâre having a baby?â
âyeah,â you whisper, tears already slipping hot down your cheeks. âweâre having a baby.â
heâs quiet for a second, just breathing with you.
âi love you. i love you so fucking much. iâm coming home. soon as i can. donât move. donât do anything. justâ stay perfect for me, okay?â
you laugh through the tears. âokay.â
+
he doesnât wait that long to tell the world.
two weeks later and heâs sitting for a post-match interview - still sweaty, hair mussed, that post-win glow making him look unfairly beautiful. the interviewer is asking the usual fluff.
âoikawa, youâve been in a relationship for a while now... howâs your girlfriend handling the long-distance while youâre here in argentina?â
oikawa smiles that easy and charming smile, the one that makes cameras flash.
âsheâs incredible,â he simply says, sincere. âsheâs handling everything like a champion. school, me being gone all the time⌠and now our baby on the way.â
the interviewer blinks and then freezes. âtheâ the baby?â
oikawaâs eyes widen a fraction like he just realized he said it out loud. then he laughs sheepishly, hand scrubbing through his hair.
âahâ yeah. surprise?â he shrugs, grin turning boyish. âweâre expecting. sheâs amazing. iâm the luckiest guy alive.â
the clip goes viral in minutes.
twitter explodes, instagram stories flood with screenshots. âsheâs only twenty-one???â âheâs literally thirty-oneâ âknocked up his young girlfriend???â the hate rolls in fast - age-gap discourse, sugar-baby accusations, âsheâs too young to be a momâ threads that make your stomach twist.
oikawa doesnât respond to any of it.
instead he posts one single photo the next day when he finally landed on japan: his hand splayed over your still-flat stomach while you sleep curled against his chest. no caption, just a tiny heart emoji.
the comments flip overnight. some are good and some are mean.
he also insists you move in, permanently. with him in argentina. no more dorm rooms no more goodbyes at airports that leave you both wrecked.
âiâm not doing long-distance with you pregnant,â he tells you while heâs already packing your suitcase like itâs already decided. âend of discussion.â
you donât argue.
his apartment in san juan becomes yours too - suddenly full of your textbooks on the coffee table, your skincare crowding the bathroom counter, baby books heâs already dog-eared and highlighted appearing on the nightstand.
heâs attentive in a way that makes your chest ache.
he always wakes up before you every morning to make ginger tea because the smell of coffee turns your stomach now. rubs your lower back without being asked when youâre studying too long (you enrolled in some online class for now). carries you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch mid-lecture video. talks to your belly in soft, rapid spanish every night, telling the baby how pretty their mom is, how strong theyâre gonna be, how much he canât wait to meet them.
and he still spoils you stupid.
buys new maternity clothes before you even show, the softest blankets. a crib that costs more than your tuition for one semester (âitâs the safest one, i checked reviews for three days straightâ). little gold baby sneakers he saw online and âhad to have.â
âyouâre carrying my baby,â he murmurs against your skin one night, lips trailing over the barely-there swell of your stomach. âleast i can do is make sure youâre comfortable while you do it.â
oh. heâs gonna be the most annoying dad but you also know heâs gonna be the best.
and somewhere in the back of his nightstand drawer, tucked under a stack of ultrasound photos, thereâs a small velvet box he hasnât opened in front of you yet.
heâs waiting for the right moment.
maybe after the first kick.
maybe when your belly is round and heavy and youâre complaining about swollen ankles while he massages them.
maybe on a quiet evening when the city lights spill through the windows and heâs holding you from behind, chin on your shoulder, whispering how perfect you look carrying his child.
whenever it is - he already knows the words by heart.
heâs going to get down on one knee. heâs going to ask you to be his wife.
and heâs going to spend the rest of his life making sure the world knows exactly how stupidly in love he is with you.
lowk hate this... but anywayyyysss hope u all like it bcs if not i will explode
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i hate ai generated photos but especially of things that we already have hundreds of actual photos of. why would you need ai generated images of the eiffel tower people have been taking pictures of the eiffel tower since its construction. you have unlimited eiffel tower photos already. why are you making fake ones. for what purpose.
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