#marking tw

Mad bit gently on Mare’s bottom lip, tugging on it before pulling away, hands finding their place on Mare’s hips, stopping him from bucking against Mad. Nipping at his jaw, Mad slowly moved down, kissing his pulse point and pressing his fangs against the vein, then working toward Mare’s claim mark, sucking purple marks into his neck and shoulder on the way.

Mare gasped when Mad licked over his claim mark, grip tightening on his shoulder and in his hair as Mad sucked at the mark, gently pushing his teeth into the scar. He groaned, unable to move his hips from Mad’s strong grip on them, and he instead turned his face into Mad’s hair, inhaling the strong smell of the man atop him.

“God, Mad…” he breathed, hands twitching when Mad removed his teeth from the mark, grip loose on him as he continued to move down. Mare relished the feeling of Mad’s tongue and teeth teasing his nipple, moving so both hands were tangled in Mad’s hair as he kissed lower, pressing warm lips to his waist and hipbones.

Mad kept Mare’s hips still, pushing him into the mattress as he pecked at the juncture where his legs met his hips, pinching the soft skin between his teeth before pulling away, moving just his eyes to look up at Mare, smirking at his flushed face.

In a blink, Mad was capturing Mare’s lips in a heated kiss, tongue invading his mouth and pressing against his sensitive fangs, swallowing the sounds Mare made as his grip tightened in Mad’s hair, following his head as he crawled back down Mare’s body to nip at his inner thighs.

Sinking his teeth into the plush flesh, Mad had a few swallows of Mare’s new blood before removing his teeth, pressing his cheek to the flesh and looking up at Mare, one hand moving from his hip to lay just above his dick, soft touch on his skin making him shiver.

“Mad, please…” Mare groaned, shifting his grip in Mad’s hair to pull him closer to where he needed him most, letting out a shuddering breath when Mad blew gently on the heated skin. “Mad, stop teasing…”

Mad wished he could record the sound Mare made when he lowered onto his dick, taking as much as he could fit into his mouth. Whatever didn’t fit, Mad wrapped his hand around and began to pump, bobbing his head and swirling his tongue.

Mare tightened his grip in Mad’s hair, not forcing but encouraging as Mad continued his ministrations, whining when he still couldn’t buck his hips, Mad’s one-handed grip strong enough to keep him down. One hand left Mad’s head to sit over his hand, trying in vain to separate it so he could hold Mad’s hand, instead gripping his wrist when Mad tightened his hold.

Mad could taste Mare’s desperation in his mouth, feeling his dick twitch against his tongue, and he quickly pulled off, hand still wrapped around the heated member as he returned to kissing and marking his inner thighs.

“Mad!” Mare shouted, looking down his body at Mad as he lifted his eyes to look at him, and the heated look in those eyes almost had Mare reaching his climax. “Please, Mad,” he panted, “don’t prolong this.”

He almost screamed when Mad was swallowing him down in a flash, body stilling as he came down Mad’s throat, tears in the corners of his eyes as he dug his nails into Mad’s wrist. Mad finally let his hips go, twisting his wrist to entwine their fingers as he swallowed down Mare’s release, letting his dick fall from his mouth and returning to his place with his cheek against Mare’s thigh.

“God, Mad…” Mare gasped, carding his fingers through Mad’s hair as he came down from his high. “That felt so good.” He giggled as Mad crawled back up his body, catching him in a kiss and letting him taste himself on Mad’s tongue, hand moving from his hair to the back of his neck to pull him closer.

“I love you, Mare,” Mad whispered against Mare’s lips, pressing their entwined hands into the pillow by his head. Mare kissed him again, hand sliding down Mad’s body to rest in the curve of his back, breath hitching when Mad rocked his hips down.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” Mare grinned against Mad’s lips, flipping them over and kissing him again.

------

It's off putting—a restless weight in Atsumu's chest that threatens his common sense. He shouldn't be feeling this way, knows it's not right, but that weight settles and digs its claws deeper the more he watches. Your attention is too precious, too valuable to be spent on anyone other than himself.

Maybe it started when Meian placed his hand on your lower back, guiding and welcoming you into his penthouse for yet another after-game party. It was an odd sight that had Atsumu's brows raising and his jaw tensing. Why did he have to touch you like that?

Or maybe it was when he heard you laughing at one of Bokuto's drunken jokes with that spellbinding voice of yours. It's downright intoxicating, and to this day still causes Atsumu's heart to race. So, if it's directed towards anyone else, he can't help but scrunch his face with distaste.

It could have been the way he saw your eyes light up when talking with Hinata. Anyone who has the pleasure of meeting your gaze would notice how alluring your eyes are—how can they not? Even Atsumu, who has stared into them countless times before, still gets lost in them.

It may also be the sweet smile you gave while complimenting Sakusa's spike from the earlier game, and Atsumu definitely saw him give you the faintest smile back. Why does Sakusa get to see your smile while hearing your words of praise? What about the set that he did so that spike could happen in the first place? Where's your words of praise for him?

It's all of that, and he's bothered. The nag is constant and an annoyance that makes him want to show everyone that you're his, and his alone.

Atsumu sits on the couch with an expression on his face that mirrors exactly how he's feeling inside. The energy he emits has the rest of the guests gravitating away, leaving him alone to mull in his silent jealousy. Last he saw, you were with some of his teammates, and he's wishing you would just come sit with him instead.

The mixture of voices around him is loud, and the music is even louder, but the thoughts in his head are screaming at him the loudest. He closes his eyes and curses underneath his breath, leaning his head back to regain some sort of control.

═ ❀ ═

Currently, you’re squished shoulder to shoulder between large-bodied athletes. Through their drunken haze, their voices and words are gruff and vulgar, and you want nothing more, but to go see your boyfriend. He made some excuse earlier to go “cool off” and you haven’t seen him since.

The conversation at hand seems to be going nowhere except in substanceless circles, and your mind keeps wandering back to a certain person. Carefully, you pry a heavy arm off your shoulder, and quietly slip away from the group—too caught up in whatever they're talking about to notice.

The lights are dim, and there's a sea of people, but you spot familiar tufts of blonde peeking from above one of the couches. Sneaking your way past the crowd, you stop in front of your boyfriend.

Taking a moment to yourself, you let your gaze roam over him. "Tired?" An innocent question naive to the ferocity of his mind.

The soft familiarity of your voice has his eyes instantly opening. "Baby," he straightens himself before interlocking his fingers with yours to keep you in place, as if afraid you would leave him again. "Not exactly tired." He places a kiss to the back of your hand, his piercing eyes never once leaving yours.

Giggling, you step closer towards him. "Then why are you just sitting here by yourself?" There’s a curious tilt to your head and you give his hands a reassuring squeeze.

He waits a moment before responding, "Just thinkin'."

Your smile widens, "About?"

"Things." He takes your other hand to place another kiss.

Your brows furrow at how vague he's being, it's not like him to be so indirect. "Things like?"

His strong grip tightens around before he pulls, and you’re suddenly falling into his lap. "Things like how I want ya all to myself, sweetheart." His voice is deep and smooth, but the overwhelming intensity in his tone makes your heart skip a beat.

"What do you mean? You already have me all to yourself." You tell him like it's the most obvious thing while hiding your face into his neck to press an endearing kiss to his jaw.

"Yes, but it seems like there's some people who don't fuckin’ see that." It's a whispered snarl underneath his breath that’s spoken through gritted teeth, and it’s barely audible when it gets lost in the surrounding noise.

You bring your face up to look at him, “Hm?”

The only response that comes to Atsumu’s mind is a kiss. It's frenzied, desperate, and the way his mouth locks onto yours only conveys more of his possession. That familiar warmth starts to dust your cheeks when you hear a low whistle and some laughter from somewhere behind, but you shyly comply and kiss him back.

Your kiss is chaste and sweet, a drastic contrast to what he's looking for and needs, and you gently break away. “They can see," you quietly hiss, eyes narrowing the slightest bit.

"So? Let 'em." A firm tone that he matches with a challenging spark that crosses his eye.

You bite at your lip while insecurity begins to gnaw at your composure, and you take a discreet look around. You're too focused on the potential stares and drunken hollers to notice your boyfriend's jealous pout.

A rough palm comes to the side of your face, firmly guiding you back to face him. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You stare into his eyes, and your discomfort doesn't pass him. "Believe me, I want to. Just not here."

He grumbles in silent understanding, "Okay. Sorry," mentally berating himself for acting so stupid, but you stand and take his hand, pulling and leading him down a hallway.

You push him into the first unlocked room you see with a laugh, the music and noise muffling with the shut of the door.

He takes a look around and smiles, "A bathroom? Didn't think ya had it in ya."

Placing an open hand onto his chest, you give him a playful shove. "You're the one who's being so needy."

He holds his hands up in defeat, but grabs your wrist, keeping your palm pressed against him. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, and his face only gets closer.

"Yeah, baby? Ya think? Well, it's not easy watching ya when it's not with me," he murmurs gently against your lips before kissing you once more.

The flutter in your chest only intensifies with the way his mouth moves against yours; it's long and fevered, but soon turns urgent, selfish even. Hands cup your cheeks, guiding your movements to satisfy his need of having you.

So lost in the way his mouth feels and meshes against your own, your knees buckle underneath the heavy tension in the room, but he’s there—catching and roughly pinning you against the door. It thuds against the frame, and you can hear the drowned out music and voices coming from the other side, reminding you of where you are and what you’re about to do.

Breaking away for the briefest moment to catch your breath, you lean your forehead against his chest. He lets out a frustrated groan that seems to border more of a growl, and slots a thigh in between your legs.

There’s a deep inhale against your hair and he pauses, “Ya smell different.” It’s a simple observation that seems to strike him harder than he initially lets on because it’s a scent that hints notes of an expensive cologne that definitely doesn’t belong to him.

Too dumbfounded by his tone and the nature of his statement, you stay silent. “Answer me, sweetheart.” He presses his muscled thigh against your cunt, warning you to respond.

The more pressure he adds, the more obvious your need becomes—gasping, digging your fingers onto his biceps, and pathetically grinding yourself back onto him for some relief.

Astonished eyes peer up at him. “Oh, I–It’s probably from when I was with the team earlier...Tsumu, what's gotten into you?" You ask him with all the innocence you can muster, but you would be lying to yourself if you said the way he’s acting wasn’t such a turn-on.

His hands continue to hold your face, and he leans over, resting his head against the door. “Again,” he bites out harshly.

You stall for what seems like forever, unsure of what it is that he wants, “Again?”

His face finds comfort hiding into the side of your neck, “My name. Say it,” his tone seems to soften, but the possessive edge still cuts deep.

There’s a warmth between your legs and your voice seems to be caught in your throat, but you gather your courage, “Tsumu,” it’s a breathy whisper, quiet and soft, but it’s all the motivation he needs to hear.

A sigh of his relief, hot and long rushes past, then there’s a feathery tingle that courses through your body—a barrage of lips and teeth dragging and sucking along your neck that sends your senses into a heightened overdrive. The more he pushes you against the door, the more obvious the heavy tremble of the bass is against your back; your head rolls to the side, biting your cheek to swallow down a moan.

He has your body mapped from the countless amount of times he’s touched you. If you were a canvas, and his lips a brush, there would be no doubt in either of your minds that every inch on your body would be covered with traces of him. But, he needs more, just that isn’t enough because having traces of another on you infuriates him to no end.

"Turn around, bend over the sink." His words are stern, and you obediently listen, while suppressing an excited smile.

There's a large mirror in front of you, it's intimidating, yet the thought of watching your boyfriend ruin you has you so enticed. You stare into the reflection, and he's looking right back. He's so handsome, but the darkening glint in his eye and ferality in his smile makes him even more deadly.

Large hands grip around your waist, then a muscled chest is pressing against your back, forcing you down and bending you further against the marble. It's cold, but his lips against the shell of your ear and his weight so deliciously pressing against you warms you in more ways than one.

“Think of me, and only me,” it’s a desperate plea that he emphasizes by leaving his claim along the column of your neck.

You watch his impatient hands pull off your shirt, exposing more of your skin for his taking. He's rough, almost angry in the way he sheds your body of your shirt and bra. He grabs hold of your upper arms, pulling you upright against his chest with so much ease, and with your bare tits reflecting back in the mirror for you both to see. Your hands react to cover yourself when shyness starts to creep, but he frowns and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

He pins them back to your sides, “Don’t hide from me.” Those same hands cup each swell of your breast, roughly kneading as if it would somehow erase all traces of other hands that have come before.

In the lewdness and obscenity of it all, and in some hidden darkened desire to watch your boyfriend have his way with you, you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your body relaxes against him, head weakly rolling against his shoulder, and you stare back into the deep reflection of his eyes.

“Atta girl,” he whispers into your ear, his lips once again grazing your neck, “Anyone else ever take care of ya like this?”

“N—No,” you gasp at the suction and soft pressure building against a sensitive spot underneath your ear, “Not like you, Tsumu.”

His smirk only grows, loving how you try to respond so casually, but your stammers and whimpers tell how you're barely hanging on, and it's all because of him. It makes him wild, seeing you crumble underneath his touch, for your thoughts to be filled with only him, and for his name to fall from your lips.

His mouth pops off with a wet smack, and your thighs squeeze together when you feel his fingertips graze underneath your skirt, but flinch at the quick slap to the side of your thigh. “Keep ‘em open,” he grits while rolling his hips against the curve of your ass.

His fingers hook into the damp crotch of your panties, peeling them down from your warm slick-covered cunt with a wicked smile. “So fuckin’ wet, baby,” his thumb rubs between your folds, “And who’s all this for, hm?” He coos with a feigned sweetness to satisfy his dark desires.

“All you, Tsumu,” you moan, staring his reflection dead in the eye.

“That’s right. All me, all me.” He places a long kiss to the side of your head, his hand gracelessly trying to undo the front of his pants.

He's impatient and needy. Thoughts from earlier rush in like a violent tide, he plays back every touch, laugh, gaze, and smile that wasn’t meant for him with an absurd amount of detail. Nobody except him can have you like he can; he's going to fuck you like nobody else ever has, and ruin it for anyone else to come because he'll make sure it's him you'll ever think about.

He lands a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you down and folding you over the sink. Grabbing his cock with a heavy hand, he drags it between your folds, and rubs your slick along his length.

"Listen now," he strains his words with a few generous pumps with his hand, "Ya have no idea what ya do to me."

With the last of his resolve, he sinks himself into you, burying his cock deep inside, and watches your face in all its fucked out bliss. "Oh, fuck," he drags out the curse with a deep shaky breath while slowly pulling his hips back, then quickly slams himself into your tight little cunt with a resounding snap.

He rips a scream from your throat that echoes throughout the marble-covered bathroom, your hands grip onto the sides of the countertop, holding on for what’s to come.

"Not gonna go easy on ya, baby." His hands move to grasp around each of your upper arms, and he starts at an unforgivable pace, pulling you back into each of his thrusts while groaning with every slam.

It’s harsh, but the way his thick cock drags against your walls has you wishing he would never stop. Every slap of his hips against your ass is loud, and he hopes whoever passes the door can hear every one of his thrusts and every pretty moan he elicits out of you. You can feel his ridiculous strength in the way he's holding onto your arms and how perfectly solid and calculated his hips are when splitting you open.

“Anyone ever make ya feel this good, sweetheart?” He pants, pulling his cock out halfway, his fat tip dragging over a spot he knows makes you weak and stops, waiting for you to answer.

You shake your head violently, wanting him to continue his brutal pace. “Just you, only you,” you whine, squeezing your walls around him.

He silently beams and continues to fuck you, and watches your tits bounce with his every thrust.

"You’re fuckin’ mine, ya hear?" He lets go of your arms, and you fall forward against the counter, too caught up in your pleasure to bother with holding yourself up.

He follows suit and presses his chiselled sweat-covered chest against your back. His arms hug you tight around the waist, but his hips don’t waver, the continuous resounding snaps filling the bathroom.

He leans his head by your ear. “First,” he grunts, “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy.” His pace quickens the more you milk him for all he is, “Then—fuck, you’re gonna walk out there and not spill a single drop.” His hand slides down your belly, tracing your folds, before finally finding your clit, “But, before any of that. I want ya to cream on my fuckin’ cock.”

It’s a wild sensation that you can’t even begin to put into words, and a feeling that only he’s been able to awaken in you. “Yes, Tsumu,” your moans sounds filthy, and it shocks even yourself, but he just hums in content—the deep vibration against your back almost has you cumming on the spot. Every drag of his cock and flick against your clit works in tandem and is so impeccably precise, it almost drives you insane.

“C’mon, baby. Do it for me.” His thrusts turn shallow, and he’s grinding himself onto your ass, but his intent doesn’t disappear.

“Tsumu, I’m close gonna—,” he presses his lips against the side of your neck and lightly nips at your skin with his teeth.

You can barely finish your statement because you’re coming undone, unravelling yourself onto his cock, while screaming his name and your words of surrender.

"That's it, that's it," he praises, your walls spasm and convulse around him. “Shit, shit, shit!” Each of his words are emphasized with sloppy thrusts and stuttering hips, but it’s all he needs to empty himself into you and finally do what he's been meaning to do all night.

He blows load after load, making sure nothing is left because it's all for you. He rests his weight on top, trying to catch his breath and calm his mind. You’re here, you’re his, and it’s his cum that you're currently filled with. God forbid you were no longer his, but if anyone were to touch you, it's his touch that he hopes you'll wish for instead; if you were to kiss anyone else, he hopes it's the taste of his lips you try to find in them.

No matter how much of his claim he lays down, he has to admit how much of your own claim you have over him for just being you because there’s nobody in the world he would rather have. He’s more than aware of how twisted and selfish it is, but just as much as he’s ruined you, you've ruined him all the same.

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© nanengko — DO NOT alter/edit/plagiarize my works or re-post/distribute works on other platforms (tiktok, wattpad, etc.)

"Did you forget? You belong to me, my pet?” Sukuna said. His fingers holding onto your chin forcing you to look up at him.  He had you stripped down to nothing kneeling before him on the bed, himself still fully dressed. 

“Or do I have to remind you?” You felt his nails dig into your skin, little crescent mark indents left in their wake. 

“Get on your knees,” he ordered. You immediately compiled, the time to disagree was long gone. His hand fell hard against your ass and you knew you’d be bruised later. His other hand braced against your hip. Nails marking up the soft flesh there as he continued to bruise you. 

“After this everyone will know just who you belong to,” he growled into your ear as he leaned over you, caging you in with his body. His tongue flicked out to trace your ear, while his hands massaging your ass, another set stroking down the length of your body, the mouths on his hands sucking at your flesh, leaving marks on your breasts, your stomach, thighs. Everywhere he could reach. He brought his tongue down from your ear, pressing kisses to your neck before biting down on your pulse point, teeth digging into your skin, his hands came up to play with your breasts, a mouth attached to each peek, licking and nipping. Twin tongues swirling around your tender buds while his other two hands spread your legs open wider, suckling on the sensitive flesh, growing ever closer to your aching core. 

“Sukuna, please I’m sorry,” you begged, your breath growing ragged as he continued to tease you, trailing his hands out towards your knees before bringing them closer to your center again, a mouth biting down on your thigh before lapping at the spot, soothing away the pain. 

“You should’ve started begging earlier,” he spat out. His hands removed themselves as he got up.  His eyes raked over you, admiring his handiwork, the trail of marks decorating your body. 

“For now you’ll just look like my whore,” he said, turning away and shutting the door, leaving you, ego and body bruised, as you cried out for him to return.  

"Is that all you got?" Gojo teased, he flicked your hands away and continued his actions. He bared his teeth, grazing them over your already bruised skin before finally sinking them in.

You cried out in pain, back arching up against his chest. Tits pressing against him, you knee he loved nothing more than this. His hands gripping your waist keeping your legs secured around him. By now, you were sure blood was pooling at the spot. You could feel it trickling down the side of your shoulders and onto the bed sheet.

"S..stop, it hurts." You begged him to ease up on his punishments but he didn't listen.

"Stop? No, not until I'm finished." He said as he pulled away from you slightly. Gojo gazed down at his masterpiece. You looked up at him with your cute doe eyes, neck, chest and shoulders stained with his so called 'love'bites. Your lips were bruised, almost bleeding from his kisses and your cheeks flushed. He had fucked your cute cunt almost four times already, filling you up with him cum each time. You were his and he was set on proving it tonight. But still something was missing. He felt as though this wasn't enough.

Gojo Satoru had to do something more. Something that would guarantee that no other man would dare touch you again. And that's when he had the idea.

"My name." He muttered, he smirked down at you before reaching in his back pocket. He borrowed (read as stole) this pocketknife from megumi and now he was going to make good use of it.

He pressed your legs down on the bed before kneeling inbetween them. He opened the knife and your heart dropped.

"G.. Gojo.. what are you doing?" You asked in a panic, you tried to push your body away from him but he grabbed your leg just in time.

"I'm just putting my name on my toy." He said, "that way jo one can have you other than me." He smiled, a wicked smile that was devoid of empathy. He pressed the knife to your thigh, you squirmed under him but he pressed down even harder. Your eyes widened as you saw blood.

Roman relaxed against the seat and smiled at his brother, “Thank you...That helps a lot.”  He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, leaning back in to grab his bag, “I’ll see you soon, Remy. Try not to get arrested while I work, yeah?” He teased, watching his brother’s face twist into a frown.

The driver shook his head, “As if anyone would catch me!” He cried after his brother shut the door.

Roman walked into the hospital, moving quickly to the locker room. The only downside to being a labor and delivery nurse was wearing scrubs to the hospital and then immediately changing them once in the locker room. He understood why. There were too many unknown variables about the nurses home lives and outside so to keep the newborn and mother safe this was the best route.

Once inside the locker room, he shrugged off his scrub top and put on the one he had packed. He heard the door open and jumped out of his skin as he heard a cool chuckle fill the room. He turned to face the other nurse, “Geez, nerd. It is too early to be that stealthy!”

Logan shook his head, eyes running over the other man as he moved to his own locker and put away his bag, “I’ve been up for a while now….” He said smiling softly, “I wasn’t being stealthy. That is merely how I walk, you know that.”

“You need a bell around your neck, specs.” Roman teased tossing the bag in the locker and turning to face his coworker, Logan Anderson. They had essentially started working at the exact same time, just two different departments.

Their relationship was strictly professional with some banter and teasing added in, but for the most part, neither would consider the other a friend. It was difficult to consider a coworker a friend if you didn’t speak outside of the workplace and kept the conversations fairly professional.

Logan rolled his eyes as he checked his hair and glasses in the mirror in the locker, making sure everything was perfectly in place and turned towards Roman. Now that he was closer he could tell that the other man looked like he’d seen some shit. He ran his eyes over the other man who stood only slightly shorter than himself. His eyes fell on Roman’s neck, were those marks?  Logan straightened his shoulders, “Roman do you have hickeys on your neck?”

Roman flinched from the question and looked in the mirror in his own locker, sure enough, some of the makeup had rubbed off when he took his shirt off, “Fuck.” he whispered.

Logan didn’t miss the flinch, obviously, they were unwelcomed marks. If the reaction had been any different he might have teased Roman about them being unprofessional but this wasn’t the time, he sighed, reaching into his bag and grabbing the Dermablend concealer and offering it to Roman. He smiled sadly at the little stick, old habits die hard, “Use this to cover the marks it should help.” He said gently.

Roman took the makeup, offering an awkward smile, “Thank you...Really, Logan, it means a lot.” He uncapped it and started applying it in small circles, trying his best to blend it with the surrounding area. He was amazed even without color corrector the hickeys faded easily.

Logan closed his locker watching Roman relax as his marks started to be hidden from prying eyes, “I know we don’t talk often but I saw your reaction. Are you oka--?” He was interrupted when both their pagers went off. They each looked at their pagers and then back at each other deciding to table that discussion for later.

A twelve-hour shift later and they were both once again back in the locker room. This time Roman walked in second, seeing the ER nurse looking thoroughly worn out. He smiled at Logan, “Rough night?”

Logan groaned, “You wouldn’t believe….I don’t think I had ten minutes to relax or any time to organize.” He huffed leaning against the locker and looking at Roman, “You don’t look much better.”

Roman chuckled, “Only a couple births nothing major and then I just floated, trying to keep busy.” He unlocked his locker grabbing his bag and not bother with changing, “Fuck.” he said groaning and leaning his head against the cool metal.

“Something wrong?” Logan half teased, but more concern came through than he had thought.

Roman sighed, “I didn’t drive today. My brother did so I can’t get home.”

Logan offered a smile, “I can take you, Roman.”

Roman nodded, “Yes, please. Thank you.” He grabbed his bag as Logan got his stuff fully together and they walked out to the parking garage. He gave the tall nerd his address, fidgeting in the car on the ride home.

The ride to Roman’s apartment was quiet. After the day they both had neither were really thinking about what had happened that morning. It was nice to just sit in silence that was sometimes filled with small talk, but neither of them forced it. About fifteen minutes later Roman found himself outside his apartment. He released a deep breath, readying himself for what might be on the other side waiting, “Thank you, Logan.”

Logan smiled at his fellow nurse, “You’re welcome. Try to rest for tomorrow.”

Roman nodded and then got out of the car and approached the door, slowly pushing it open after unlocking it. He sighs dropping his bag by the door and scanning the room when his eyes fall on his roommate who is curled up on the couch. He felt a bit of anxiety creep up as he slowly made his way over to the couch and sat next to him, “Patton?” He says softly.

The man in question moved from his spot and latched on to Roman and sobbed, “Imsorry imsorry imsorry.” He repeated between sobs.

“Hey, Pat...it’s okay. We’re okay.” Roman said gently as he held Patton close and he huffed a laugh, “Well I’m getting to be okay…” He corrected, attempting honesty.

Neither of them were keeping track of how long it took for Patton to regain his composure and breathe normally again, but Roman was willing to sit and hold him for however long it took.

Once Patton had calmed his crying enough he looked up at Roman trying to inspect his face, his eyes flitting over every inch of skin he could see and then checking again.

Roman frowned at his friend, “Pat? What--what are you doing?”

Patton blushed, he had never been subtle but it was probably worse when he was concerned, “I wanted to see if he left marks…” He whispered, “I want to know how much he hurt you.”

“Remy tried to cover them but someone at work noticed….” Roman said as he smiled sadly, “Speaking of Remy, he wants to help, Patton.”

Patton tensed in Roman’s arms, “There were marks?” He asked, ignoring the bit about Remy wanting to help. He knew Roman’s brother would want to help but he wasn’t ready yet.

The nurse nodded, “Only a few….I’m okay.” He said softly, “Shaken up but getting there--I’m more worried about you.”

Patton’s eyebrows furrowed, “Worried about--me?” He asked with a confused expression.

Roman offered another sad smile, “Yes worried about you Patton. You just broke up with Garret after three years and from what I saw last night…this wasn’t something new for you?”

Patton hid his face in Roman’s chest, “No...I wasn’t shocked by his actions...I was angry and surprised he went after you but his actual actions…” He swallowed hard, “t-those are things he has been doing for a while now.”

Roman tensed, pulling Patton closer feeling immense guilt since he knew Patton for their entire relationship and never noticed, “Patton...you never--I mean..I never…”

“I didn’t want anyone to know...the marks that lasted for a longer than a week he usually put where no one would see...and m--marks that were visible I quickly learned to cover with makeup or the right clothes,” Patton said softly, shaking his head.

Roman pulled Patton nuzzled his neck, “Pat...please don’t go back to him...It could end so much w--worse.” his voice cracked.

Patton nodded, “He’s the only person who l--loved me, Ro.”

Roman cupped Patton’s face, “ That is not love. What Garret did, none of it was love.” He wiped away some of Patton’s tears, “What we have, Patton, is love. We try not to hurt each other, don’t get satisfaction out of it when we do, and we sure as hell make sure the other safe!”

Patton hugged him tightly letting some more tears fall slowly.

Roman held him, “Please Patton. I want to help you but I am not qualified...I can find a good therapist though…”

Patton nodded, “O--okay.” Not bothering to tell Roman that even if he found one he wouldn’t go. He didn’t want to talk bad about Garret to a complete stranger and if he was being honest, it was taking everything in him to not go back to his ex now. The only thing keeping him from going was Roman, he needed Roman safe and if Garret came back there was no guarantee.